


Shattered

by SilentSolitude



Series: Falling Star [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bed-Wetting, Carrying, Crying, Crying Mycroft Holmes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, Gen, Greg is Sweet, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Insecure Mycroft, Little mycroft, Little!Mycroft, Littles Are Known, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft IS the British Government, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Parental Lestrade, Paternal Lestrade, Protective Greg, Sick Mycroft, Thumb-sucking, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSolitude/pseuds/SilentSolitude
Summary: Mycroft Holmes didn’t plan on becoming close to his partner. While he is willing to share certain parts of his life with Gregory, there are many things he vowed to take to his grave. But he didn’t count on Greg taking him to the edge, just to the point where he’s forced to reveal his most important secret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first story. English is not my first language, but I'll do my best to avoid any mistakes. But if there are any - as there will be - feel free to message me! I appreciate it!

In the darkness of his flat, Gregory Lestrade was lying awake in his bed. He didn’t know what had woken him up just minutes ago, but now he was wide awake and failed to continue sleeping. It certainly didn’t help that he was completely alone in bed, even though he was living together with his boyfriend, Mycroft. He wished to be able to cuddle with him in bed, but Mycroft had insisted on separate bedrooms ever since they had moved in together eight months ago.

Their relationship had started more than a year ago, but it certainly didn’t feel that long. Sometimes Gregory had the feeling that Mycroft seemed to be forced to do all of this. There was no cuddling, no watching movies together on the couch.

Hell, Mycroft didn’t even want to eat breakfast with him.

As a result Greg had thought about breaking up with his partner. He really didn’t want to, but all attempts to talk to Mycroft failed, either Mycroft denied everything or he just avoided him completely. Of course he still loved him, but he just didn’t want to be treated like he had some kind of infectious disease. It wasn’t even about sex. Mycroft had made it clear from the beginning that he was asexual and therefore had no sexual desire and Gregory was completely content with that.

That was due to their classifications. Everyone got classified at age 17 and therefore it had happened long ago for them. There were five classifications; Alpha, Omega, Neutral, Caregiver and Little. The last ones only made up ten percent of the whole population. While Mycroft was a neutral, Gregory was surprised to find himself as a caregiver.

It was possible that one was wrongly classified, but that was extremely rare. Therefore Gregory had long ago come to peace with his classification as he was convinced that there must be some truth to it. As caregivers had also close to none sexual desire, he had been a perfect match with Mycroft in this area. Sometimes he even wished to be able to care for his own little, but for now he was completely satisfied with this relationship with Mycroft, at least if they would be able to talk about their issues.

He yawned and decided to get out of bed. It was useless to lie in bed while unable to sleep, therefore he could prepare breakfast. Just as he got out of his bedroom, he heard something. It didn’t sound like a burglar, their house was far too secure for that to happen. One of the perks of having the British Government as his boyfriend, Greg thought.

The door to the second bedroom was slightly open, which was unusual for Mycroft as he always locked his door at night. This was one of the things Greg didn’t understand. Of course, hiding secrets came along with his job, but, for god’s sake, they were in a relationship! As if Greg would snoop around at night.

But he decided to keep his anger down because he ought to have been used to this months ago, didn’t he? After all, he knew what he was in to. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the sound again, now it was clear that it was the sound of vomiting. Greg grimaced, but still followed the sound to the bathroom. Breakfast could wait.

Oddly enough, there wasn’t any light coming from underneath the door. Was Mycroft really sitting in the dark?

“Mycroft? Can I come in?” Greg asked. He waited a few seconds, but he heard only sniffles. Was Mycroft crying? “Please, sweetheart, open the door.” This nickname had stuck a while ago and Greg decided to keep it, as Mycroft seemed to like it, even though he never would admit it.

But Mycroft failed to answer once again and Greg decided to come in. Briefly he wondered if he would need to break down the door, but it wasn’t even locked.

He opened the door completely, turned on the light and found himself face to face with his partner.

\- - - -

Mycroft was slumped against the bathtub, looking utterly miserable. Still dressed in his work clothes, he was indeed crying and Greg wanted to do nothing more than hug him tightly. But he knew Mycroft didn’t always like to be touched and would flinch at the slightest contact. So he refrained from touching him to avoid getting Mycroft even more upset, but still closed the door and sat down in front of his partner.

This was not a situation Greg was familiar with, not at all. However, if Mycroft was crying, something was really, really wrong. And Greg wanted nothing more than to help his boyfriend.

“Please leave me alone, Gregory. If you give me a moment, I’ll be –“, Mycroft started, but he was interrupted.

“No! You won’t do this now!” Greg said angrily. “Don’t you realise that I love you, and that I want to take care of you? You’re sitting here, all sick and crying, and once again trying to shut me out! Please, Mycroft. I just want to help you.”

Mycroft once again tried to answer, but he felt bile rising into his throat and crawled to the toilet to vomit. Greg knelt beside him to silently show his support, but didn’t dare to touch him. He noticed that Mycroft felt feverish and got up to get medicine. While he rummaged around in the medicine cabinet, Mycroft wrapped his arms around himself in misery and waited his vomiting out.

After a long pause in which Greg had given his partner the medicine to hopefully keep the fever down, Mycroft tried to get up. Greg could feel Mycroft swaying and stood up to stabilise him. But Mycroft’s legs still were shaky and Gregory slowly lowered both of them to sit on the tiles again.

“Wait a moment, Mycroft. I don’t want you to fall.” Greg told him. “I’m sorry, I’ll be able to get up in just a few seconds,” Mycroft mumbled. But Gregory ignored him and sat with his back to the bathtub and pulled his partner against him. Mycroft stiffened, but Greg gently stroked his back and waited until the tension slowly left him. “Take your time, sweetheart. We aren’t going anywhere.” Mycroft just wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his face against Greg’s chest.

They were cuddling. After long months in which Mycroft seemed desperate to avoid him, Gregory felt like he was in heaven. Maybe their relationship still had a chance.

\- - - -

Greg had been sitting there lost in his thoughts, while Mycroft’s body grew heavier in his arms. He seemed barely awake, but Greg was hesitant to wake him up. After all, he still had a fever and needed his sleep. He was just preparing himself to carry Mycroft to bed, but paused because he felt warmth spreading around his legs. Greg already suspected what had happened, but still pulled away slightly.

A dark spot had formed on Mycroft’s pants which confirmed his suspicion.

Greg grimaced.

Well, that answered the question. He would need to wake Mycroft up to clean both of them.

It was not like Mycroft could have helped it. Greg doubted Mycroft had a history with bedwetting, surely he would have noticed something as his boyfriend.

Okay, as if he would know, with the separate bedrooms and all.

Greg abandoned this thought and gently shook his partner awake. “Wake up, love. We need to clean you up.”

Greg sighed. Mycroft was hard to wake up, but finally Greg got a reaction.

“Gregory? What’s the matter?” Mycroft mumbled and Greg found him utterly adorable as he rubbed his eyes.

“You had an accident and we need to get you cleaned up,” Greg answered him carefully.

But upon hearing this, Mycroft still panicked and tried to bolt. Greg still had his arms wrapped around him and therefore it was very easy for him to not let go of Mycroft.

“Mycroft! It’s okay, come on, I’ll draw you a quick bath,” Greg almost shouted, but he didn’t want Mycroft to panic further. But now he really wanted to get cleaned up, as they still were soaked in urine.

Mycroft misunderstood and tried to appease him. “I’m so sorry, Gregory. Tomorrow I’ll bring your clothes to the dry cleaner’s –“.

Gregory interrupted him deliberately.

“I’m not mad, love. You couldn’t help it, do you hear me? Everything’s fine.” Greg was quick to reassure him once again and just pulled both of them up.

After ensuring that Mycroft could stand on his own, Greg sat him down on the toilet lid. He went over to the tub to draw the bath and in the meantime Mycroft just stared at him with glassy eyes while trembling.

Greg frowned and once again felt his forehead and sure enough, the fever still wasn’t low enough. He gave one to the pills sitting on the sink to Mycroft in order to lower the fever.

Because his partner was still quite unresponsive, Greg didn’t bother to wait for him to undress himself. Instead he just pulled down Mycroft’s pants which caused him to whimper. But Greg shushed him and helped him into the tub once he was finished undressing Mycroft.

“I’ll leave you alone, I’m just preparing tea. Shout, if you need me!” Greg said before leaving the room. He put on the kettle and waited.

After a short while Mycroft came out of the bathroom and went over to the couch, still avoiding Greg’s eyes.

Greg glanced at the clock and sighed. It was only seven in the morning. Had they been sitting there for almost two hours? It was going to be a long day and he was already exhausted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a bad day at work and Mycroft's certainly isn't any better.

Greg angrily stormed back into his office, swiping rainwater from his forehead. This morning had not begun well and it certainly didn’t improve. After Mycroft’s bath, he had been bluntly ignored. Seriously, what did he expect? That Mycroft was now cuddly and touchy-feely? Admittedly he had been kind of expecting that. Surely talking about the situation would have been possible? But Mycroft hadn’t even wanted this. Directly after coming out of the bathroom, Mycroft had continued working and hadn’t even said good bye to Greg as he had left. 

The hug this morning had been one of the first hugs in their whole relationship and now Mycroft acted as if he regretted it.

Maybe he did.

Greg stopped dead in his tracks around the office.  It was certainly possible. But, if this was the case, surely Mycroft would have ended the relationship long ago? It wasn’t as if Mycroft hadn’t enough power to do so, a hand signal would have Greg vanishing to never been seen again.

Maybe he was planning to break up today, after work?

Would he come home and find all of his things packed away? Greg felt anger welling up at the sheer thought. Mycroft could only hope that Greg wouldn’t get a hold of him. And it only was because of a hug, something shared almost every day between people!  However, it wasn’t likely that Mycroft had been hugged often; his relationships with Sherlock or even Eurus certainly weren’t the best. While Greg hadn’t met their parents yet, a certain set of parents was needed to raise such kind of children.

But before he could continue thinking about their situation, he was interrupted.

“The case is solved; the mother did it.” Sally burst through his office door. “Apparently she was on drugs and crazy enough to kill her little.”

Greg thanked and dismissed her. He needed time alone to think and visit Sherlock to get all of the details.

This case had been one of the most hardest in his entire career. A jogger had found a corpse in the park and after investigation it was revealed to be a thirty-year-old man, classified as a little. Cases with children, no matter if biological or classified ones always were hard; but this one had been tortured prior to death. For him death really came as a release. It really sickened Greg that people committed this and similar crimes, but sadly enough it was nothing new for him. Still, a little one was involved and Greg really didn’t want to know what else she did to him while he was alive and depending on her. One would think that caregivers had to face hard criteria and other tests in order to care for a little, but it was still horrifyingly easy to get approval. Therefore, even abusive caregivers sometimes got permission to care for a little.

Soon enough, it was lunch time and Greg got his coat to go speak with Sherlock, but his phone rang. “Detective Inspector?” It was Anthea. “Mr. Holmes has called in sick. He’s not in any danger, but I wanted to inform you as I fear he has not told you.” Greg was flabbergasted. “Thanks, Anthea. He has indeed chosen not to tell me.” Anthea was not one to make small talk and hung up. Mycroft and calling in sick? Gregory couldn’t even think of something that was more unlikely. He had been fine when he had left, or had the fever risen?

It was only a slight change of plans. Instead of visiting Sherlock, now he would just check in on Mycroft.

\- - - -

Mycroft had planned to continue working after Greg left, but it seemed as if he had dozen off. After a glance at the clock, he called Anthea to inform her that he wouldn’t be coming into work today as there weren’t any too important matters today. He seemed to be even sicker than this morning and he simply felt not up to working today. He almost couldn’t believe that he really had thought this, as his work had been the most important thing in his life for more years than he bothered to count.

Sure, there was Greg and while Mycroft loved and adored him, he just couldn’t afford to rely on Greg anymore. This morning had been a disaster and Mycroft didn’t want to imagine how Greg now thought about him.

Was he disgusted? Surely he was. After all, Mycroft had not only wet himself in front of his boyfriend, he had also peed _on_ him. Only children wet themselves – or littles. Mycroft shuddered. He was a grown man! It was simply unacceptable to him to wet himself and he paled as he thought about what his work colleagues would think. As Sherlock liked to put it, he was the British Government – he would be utterly humiliated if anyone ever found out. 

Even now he was bitterly ashamed because Gregory knew and he was only his partner. But would Greg really tell someone in order to humiliate him? Mycroft liked to think better about him, but he guessed he couldn’t even be mad at him, as it had been so disgusting what he had done.

He didn’t even admit to himself that this kind of accidents had happened to him a few times in the past months, but he had been alone! He had hoped to keep it that way when he already didn’t manage to stop them as it was.

In just a few hours Gregory would come home from work and surely break things up.  Mycroft frowned, what would he do then? He mentally slapped himself. He needed to stop depending on Greg! He had lived alone for years, but now he was used to constant murmur from the television in their living room and just general chatter from Greg.

It would need quite a bit of adjustment, Mycroft concluded, but surely he would cope. It wasn’t that big of a change. He would only lose the man that had slowly crept into his life years ago and that he now loved with all of his heart.  Mycroft huffed at the foolish thought. He had sworn to guard himself from any feelings and yet here he was. Until the relationship with the DI had begun, Mycroft had been a man who protected himself by not being close to other people. Now he was similar to an infant, pathetic and wetting himself. 

Distancing himself from further depressing thoughts, Mycroft occupied himself with packing his things. As if that was any less depressing. While the flat was in his name, he had plans to search for his own flat and not kick Greg out. He was the one who had avoided Gregory deliberately and he was aware that Greg was frantically trying to stop their relationship from failing. But it was destined to fail from the beginning! Mycroft knew he could never tell Greg his secret and yet he started the relationship. He was utterly disgusted with himself.

Once again close to crying, Mycroft finished packing his things up. For now, he put all of the boxes into this bedroom. Afterwards he went to this secret compartment of his wardrobe and took out the pill box. It was the only way to stop his secret from being revealed, as it influenced his behaviour and therefore he took two of them. After putting all of it away to hide any tracks – his boyfriend was after all an inspector – he took another one of those fever pills.

Suddenly very tired, Mycroft decided to lie down on the couch and sleep a bit. With the pills he had taken the necessary precautions to hopefully stop another accident from happening. He set an alarm to avoid falling in too deep slumber, as he didn’t want to sleep for too long and an accident was sure to happen if he slept too deeply.

He found a pillow that smelt of Greg and nuzzled his face into it. Mycroft didn’t know why, but that smell always made him feel safe. And as it was most likely the last time he would get to smell Greg as his partner and therefore in such an intimate way, he made sure to make the most out of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally confronts Mycroft.

Greg arrived home and opened the door to their flat. He was surprised to find it dark and turned on the light. It flickered, but was enough to light up the hallway. Greg kicked off his shoes and his eyes drifted to the coat rack. His coats – a present from Mycroft – were all there, but otherwise it was empty. He frowned. What did happen to Mycroft’s coats? There hadn’t been many, not by any means as Mycroft preferred to keep most of his clothes in his bedroom – but still, did Mycroft pack them away?  

Greg mentally prepared himself for the worst, but he was still shocked as he saw the empty bookshelves which were missing more than half of their former content. It used to be Mycroft’s flat and therefore he owned the majority of furniture and because the essential things had already been there, Greg had only brought in a few personal items, such as photo albums. But what on earth had persuaded Mycroft to pack all of his things? That was the only possible explanation, as there certainly wasn’t any burglar responsible for removing nothing but Mycroft’s furniture and items, while sparing Greg’s.

Greg sighed, running a hand down his face. He only went here because of the odd call from Anthea, and not to solve their relationship problems this close to lunch. Nonetheless he would need to talk to Mycroft, and now he wouldn’t let himself be turned away once again.

“Mycroft? Are you here?” Greg called out. Where was his partner?  There was no answer and as Greg went into the living room, he caught a glance of socked feet hanging over the edge of the couch. He went over and knelt in front of Mycroft.

After feeling his forehead, Greg discovered he still felt quite warm. “Damn," he said, voice causing Mycroft, ever so the light sleeper, to stir.

Greg watched as Mycroft sat up and wide, almost tearful eyes looked at him in distress.

“Gregory! I didn’t expect you to be here so soon!” He exclaimed and tried to get up. But Greg got a hold of him to prevent him from leaving.

“Anthea called me. You called in sick? That’s so unusual for you; I thought I would check in. Don’t want someone possessing you, after all! At least that would be a reasonable explanation.” Greg joked.

“I just didn’t want to work today, that’s all! Since when do you try to meddle with my work, stop bothering me!” Mycroft snapped.

“Sure! If that is what you want, I won’t bother you anymore! See how you manage all on your own, then!” Greg snapped back. He had been tired of Mycroft avoiding him for a long time; maybe it really was for the best if they broke up. At least that was exactly what Mycroft seemed to want.

Greg left the room, but not without one last cutting remark. “I see you already packed your things, but you didn’t need to bother!  I’ve had enough of you as it is, I don’t need to stay in your bloody flat as well!”

\- - - -

As soon as Gregory had left the room, Mycroft’s Ice-man façade fell and he collapsed to his knees right there on the thick rug in front of the couch, curling in on himself. He pulled his knees to his chest, rested his forehead on them and cried harder than he ever had in his entire life.

It didn’t matter how much he’d tried to prepare for the inevitable loss, it still hurt far more than he had anticipated. He hadn’t meant to snap; it just came out that way. Somehow he didn’t have any control over his emotions today and it only made it worse that Greg had been so caring today. But none of it mattered anymore. It was over. He had lost Greg.

He didn’t bother putting himself up as he heard Greg – his _ex – boyfriend_ ; the sheer thought brought tears up again – entering the room. Mycroft was already pathetic in his eyes, so why even try to hide his emotions?

Greg caught sight of Mycroft and stopped. He looked utterly wretched, sitting curled into himself, eyes downcast onto the rug.

“Mycroft? Sweetheart?” While Greg certainly was mad at him, he wasn’t that heartless and still cared. Even so it just wasn’t possible to end all feelings he had for Mycroft in a split second, not after that long time together.  And he wasn’t under time pressure anymore, as he had called into work to let them know he wouldn’t return today.

Mycroft just whimpered and curled even tighter into himself. He kept his eyes firmly closed; he didn’t want to see Gregory mocking him.

Greg pulled both of them up on the couch. Mycroft covered his face with his hands and sobbed, sagging against Greg. It was heart wrenching and Gregory did his best to whisper sweet nonsense in order to calm him down. His breathing was rapid and Greg almost feared he would have a panic attack.

Finally Mycroft calmed down, but didn’t pull away. He looked adorable as he wiped tears from his cheeks and his runny nose on the back of his hand. Greg had loved all situations in which Mycroft didn’t act like the British Government and was just his wonderful boyfriend.  But sadly enough, it hadn’t happened very often, but Greg had come to dearly appreciate it.

Instead he seemed completely focused on playing with a strand of Greg’s hair, still avoiding his eyes.  It was so unlike Mycroft that Greg had to laugh in spite of everything. Mycroft frowned and tried to pull away, but Greg didn’t let him. As much as Greg would have loved to continue with this, he needed answers.

He needed to know if Mycroft really wanted to break up. And he would get an answer.

“Mycroft, listen to me, please.” He started, but Mycroft only tried to hide his  face in his partner’s chest. Briefly Greg wondered if it was due to the illness that Mycroft was almost entirely nonverbal today.

“Mycroft! Do you want to break up with me? If yes, I’ll leave in peace for real this time.”

This time Mycroft was quick to answer. “No! Please, Gregory – I’ll do anything –“ He was rambling and seemingly  desperate to continue their relationship.

Greg sighed out of relief. He pulled Mycroft close, hugging him tightly and kissed his forehead.

“Oh, Mycroft, sweetie!”  Greg exclaimed and gently stroked his back. Normally Mycroft hated any kind of contact, but today he seemed to desperately crave comfort. “You don’t even need to do very much. I would just appreciate it if you finally tell me what’s wrong.”

Mycroft mumbled something Greg didn’t quite catch and asked him to repeat it.

Mycroft turned to hide his head into Greg’s shoulder, almost shy, and for several moments Greg wondered if he would answer.

“Please don’t make me,” Mycroft finally said, voice pleading. He reached out to cling at Greg’s shirt, once again crying. “You’ll just leave!  And –“

Gregory interrupted him for the umpteenth time to stop him from rambling.

“I won’t. That’s a promise, love.”

Mycroft still hesitated. He seemed terribly unsure.

He finally answered. “I can’t – tell you”, his voice cracked. “But maybe - I can show you?”

Greg was just happy to get answers and kissed Mycroft on top of his hair. As it was basically the first human contact he had with Mycroft in months, he stalled in letting him go. But his partner also didn’t seem to want to end the contact and snuggled even closer.

“Myc? Do you want to go now?” Greg asked him.

Mycroft turned to look at him and frowned. Greg wasn’t sure if it was because of the question or the nickname.

“I can show it now, but I didn’t plan to leave now.” Mycroft pulled away, looking sad.

Greg had to stop himself from cooing because Mycroft was once again looking cute.

Instead of a verbal answer he just stood up, pulling Mycroft up to carry him. He squeaked and quickly tightened his hold on Greg, which caused him to laugh while settling Mycroft on his hip. Now his classification was a huge advantage, as caregivers had some extra physical strength, which made carrying Myc much easier.  

Greg had taken a risk by carrying him, but Mycroft seemed to like it. He even cuddled closer, laying down his head on Greg’s shoulder and sighing contentedly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, love or else you won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Greg warned him, but Mycroft just huffed and sleepily pointed to his bedroom. He didn’t even try to walk by himself, which only confirmed Greg’s suspicion. His boyfriend sure was a sneaky one; pretending he hated human contact, but now after being offered the chance, he was being a clingy monkey! Greg mentally frowned. Mycroft really must’ve had a sad life to be this hesitant to cuddle without a specific invitation. It seemed as if he had never been loved before.

But Greg swore to change this. After all, he wanted to continue seeing Mycroft in all of his adorableness.

He opened the door to Mycroft’s bedroom, turning on the light and tried to sit him down on the bed, which thankfully still had sheets. But his boyfriend whined and strengthened his hold on Greg’s shirt. It seemed as if Mycroft was now full on panicking, so close to revealing his secret.

Greg gently removed Mycroft’s hands. “We can continue cuddling in just a moment. But now I want to get started or else you’ll just continue to panic, love,” Greg did his best to reassure Mycroft, but it showed only limited success.

Looking pleadingly up at Greg, Mycroft shyly asked “You do it?” and pointed to the left half of his wardrobe. “There’s a secret compartment, you just need to pull the bottom up a bit…”

Greg was baffled. He had been expecting almost everything, but certainly not any kind of secret compartment. What on earth was Mycroft hiding?

He stood up and went over to the wardrobe.

Looking back to the bed, Greg noticed Mycroft had thrown himself onto the bed, face down and hidden underneath his blanket. Even after all those reassurances, Mycroft still seemed to fear his reaction.

Greg sighed and ignored Mycroft for a moment. Instead he fully opened the left half of the wardrobe, before pulling up the bottom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's secret is finally revealed.

Gregory was stunned. Really, he had been expecting almost everything – but honestly, not this. After opening the bottom of the wardrobe, it had been mostly empty. It contained only one box and most importantly, a pill box. Greg sighed. He didn’t even need to pick them up to identify them as he knew them by heart. He had seen them often enough at work.

“Mycroft? Do you have something to tell me?” Greg asked him, but only got a whimper in response. It seemed as if he would need to come to his own conclusions, but that was not difficult.

Those pills were only used by littles, therefore people who mentally regressed and were cared for by Caregivers, such as Greg himself.

Littles used them to hide their classification. It changed their behaviour significantly and prevented them from “dropping into headspace”, which was one of the terms used for describing age regression.  As Littles tended to spend about half of their time regressed and adopted characteristics of their mental age, the pills had another huge benefit: It improved their bladder control greatly, making it possible for them to participate in social life without immediately being identifiable as Littles.   At least it worked most of the time; there still were certain cases in which an effect could not be guaranteed. Greg wasn’t exactly sure how they worked and preferred to focus on the criminal aspect in his line of work.

Hence he knew that because of their huge modifications of the human body along with mostly unknown side effects, the pills were strictly forbidden, both use and possession. However, littles were treated under a specific law and therefore didn’t need to fear very harsh penalties. Mostly the ones who sold them faced a harsh punishment in case they were caught. Mycroft could have faced those penalties – but Greg was sure that he had make arrangements to prevent the truth from coming out. At least that was something positive. Greg hadn’t the slightest idea of much they exactly cost, but he knew for sure that they were expensive as hell. But of course Mycroft could afford them.

And Mycroft used them. Greg was entirely sure of that, otherwise Mycroft wouldn’t have those damned things. Sure, it was possible that he stored them for someone else, but that was highly unlikely. Maybe they could have been for Sherlock, but his brother wasn’t a little.

Gregory mentally cursed himself. Now he was focusing on those damned pills instead of Mycroft! He was sure Mycroft was desperately waiting for some kind of reaction. Most likely his partner was doing everything in his strength to prevent himself from bolting.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. His partner – Mycroft! – was a little. Not a neutral. And Greg hadn’t known. He hadn’t even suspected anything, not once in all those years he had known him. Not once during the time they had been involved in this relationship had he suspected that Mycroft was anything other than a neutral.  He wanted to slap himself, how on earth could he have missed one of the most important things in his partner’s life? For god’s sake, he was a Detective Inspector! He was ashamed that he had been so blind.

Greg glanced at his partner, but Mycroft still had the blanket pulled over his head and didn’t even stir. He didn’t bother to open the other box as he was sure of what was inside. Instead he walked over to the bed and sat down next to Mycroft. Greg slowly reached out his hand to pull away the blanket and instantly knew that he had made a mistake.

Mycroft threw himself up and off his bed, sagging against the wall, looking at Greg with huge, tearful eyes. Greg thought he looked like a wounded animal and felt the desire to hug him tightly and never let him go.

But he knew that would be another huge mistake. He watched as Mycroft walked over to the wardrobe and took the pill box. Mycroft lingered, visibly unsure, but refrained from taking another pill after quickly glancing at Gregory.  He put it away, sat down on the rug and leaned on the wardrobe door he had closed. Hands playing with the hem of this shirt and eyes downcast, he did his best to avoid Greg’s eyes once again.  Greg was briefly amused that the person that was the British Government could be so shy.

Finally the silence was interrupted.

“Mycroft, dear –“ Greg was distracted as Mycroft’s eyes instantly snapped up to look at him. “Myc – why didn’t you tell me of your classification? I’m not mad now, and I certainly wouldn’t have been if you had told me sooner.”

Greg had to wait a long time for a response, but he was patient.

“I… I don’t know. I spent my entire life hiding…  I’m sorry, Gregory. I didn’t know how you would react and simply feared the worst. That was egoistic of me, I begun our relationship even though I was fully aware from the beginning that it was destined to fail.” Mycroft stated.

Greg protested. “But we won’t break up, not unless you explicitly want to.  We’ll manage it even without those pills. Together.”

Mycroft smiled at him.

Greg knew that he needed to fully reassure him now and sensed that Mycroft needed silent support instead of more talking. He slowly held out his arms, invitingly.

Mycroft paused. His normal response was to avoid all kinds of human contact, but after today there wasn’t any normality anymore. Maybe it was okay for him to accept cuddles? After all, Greg hadn’t rejected him today, even though he knew now that he was a little. And he really wanted cuddles; he wanted to be held. He found himself moving slowly closer until he was standing in front of Greg.

Carefully to avoid startling him, Greg pulled Mycroft down onto the bed. Almost instinctively, Mycroft found himself curling close to his partner, his head tucked under his chin and Greg’s arms wrapping around him. Slowly Mycroft’s body lost its tension.

Completely calm, Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent that always managed to make him feel safe.  Greg gently brushed his hair and rocked him from side from side. Mycroft felt safe and protected. He felt loved.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetie,” Greg told him. “Thank you for telling me, you’ve been so brave. I promise you that everything is going to be just fine.” Mycroft didn’t answer him verbally and just snuggled closer to him in response. 

\- - - -

Mycroft stifled a yawn and rested his head on crossed arms on the kitchen table while he listened to Gregory preparing dinner. He was feeling a bit restless and lazily kicked his feet against the opposite chair.  

It really felt good to be cared for. Greg had had offered before, but he had always been rejected, as Mycroft lived in constant fear of his classification being revealed. He didn’t want to risk behaving strange and therefore doing something that might hint at it.

Under normal circumstances Mycroft would never dare to behave this way as he deemed it childish, but now Greg already knew and was accepting of his classification. He had to admit that being able to simply act without constantly questioning all of his moves was quite relaxing. Normally it was essential for him to always be on guard, especially at work. Even here at home it had been necessary to hide his classification from Greg, which was why he had tried to keep a sufficient emotional distance from him.

While he wasn't planning to regress around Greg, it would still be pleasant to have a safe space in which he didn’t need to disguise himself too much. He had managed to repress the urge to regress for years; surely now it wouldn’t be much harder, even without his pills.

Still, he felt himself slipping younger, but for now he managed to get a hold on himself. It had been the constant care that had him almost regressing. The fever hadn’t helped either and he had a headache which only distracted him further.

“Come on, sleepyhead, don’t fall asleep yet.” Greg gently shook him awake. Mycroft grumbled and let his head hit the table.

Greg put the prepared dinner on the table and sat down next to Mycroft.

It was basically one of the first meals they shared together and Greg spent most of the time watching Mycroft eating. While officially they had been together for more than a year now, it certainly didn’t feel like it. Now with Mycroft being far more affectionate, it felt like a whole new relationship and Greg grinned as he thought about his intensified love for Mycroft. And now that Mycroft accepted physical contact, Greg planned to shower him with love.

“You really are adorable, do you know that?” The unexpected remark caused Mycroft to almost choke on his food. He blushed and turned to glare lightly at his partner, but Greg only chuckled.   

They finished eating and got up. Mycroft reached over to pick up both his and Greg’s bowl and carried them to the sink.

Suddenly his eyelids felt like lead, and he blinked a couple of times.

“Go to bed, Mycroft. You’re still sick, sleep will only help you. We can clean up tomorrow.” Greg said.

Normally he disliked delaying simple things like doing dishes, but Mycroft still nodded. Greg wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into for a hug that was gladly accepted.

Mycroft wanted to go to bed as he was dead tired, but he was stopped.

“Myc, wait!” Greg called out and waited until Mycroft turned around. “I certainly don’t want to rush you, but maybe… do you want to share a bed with me tonight?” he hesitantly asked.

Mycroft stiffened, eyes going wide. Greg wasn’t sure if he had imagined the longing look.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry.” Mycroft quickly refused and finally walked into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He opened his not-so-secret-anymore compartment and rummaged around, trying to find one of his diapers. He wasn’t sure if Greg had seen them and certainly didn’t want to bring them up. He mentally cursed biology which he blamed for his dependence on diapers. If he wasn’t a little, he wouldn’t need them.

Mycroft abandoned this thought and quickly diapered himself, before he finally was able to go to bed.

In the hallway Greg sighed. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up; while Mycroft had in fact opened up with him, they still had lot of issues to face.

\- - - -

Mycroft jerked awake and did his best to stifle the scream, but he knew he had failed when he heard Gregory running to his door. The door was opened and Mycroft felt tears welling up in his eyes at the sheer sight of his partner.  Greg quickly walked over and sat down on the bed, but Mycroft only stared at him.

Then Greg opened his arms. Mycroft didn’t think about anything. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around Greg with a muffled sob. Even though he was confused, Greg was quick to wrap his arms around his partner.

Nightmares were nothing unusual for Mycroft and he had grown used to them long ago.

Normally they only annoyed him because he knew that trying to fall asleep once again was useless. But this one had been one of the bad ones. He always dreamt of similar stuff, mostly of Sherlock or Gregory dying.

Today it had been about Gregory.  He had been forced to watch him being murdered in cold blood. And it had been Mycroft’s fault. Someone had found out Mycroft’s status as a little and decided to murder his partner, out of sheer hatred. Even the dream made no sense. Until he had seen Greg in reality, he hadn’t been completely sure that he still was alive.

And he voiced as much after Greg inquired.  Greg answered with stroking his back while rocking him once again. It seemed to calm Mycroft down, so he planned to use it more often.

He paused. “You know, my offer still stands.”

He felt a small nod against his chest and simply picked Mycroft up. But instead of going over to his bedroom, he entered the bathroom.

“You might want to change; that wet diaper surely isn’t very comfortable, love.” He explained after Mycroft had looked at him confused. Mycroft blushed crimson and wiggled away.

Greg left him alone, but waited in front of the door.

Mycroft quickly changed himself. Now he had the confirmation that Greg was aware of the diapers, but he still was amazed that Greg wasn’t disgusted and simply accepted it. But he was utterly exhausted and couldn’t think straight. He would analyse it tomorrow.

As soon as he stepped out, he was crushed into yet another hug.

“Am I right in thinking that your accident yesterday wasn’t an exception?” Greg asked him.

“…Wasn’t planning on sleeping, so I didn’t put one on”, Mycroft mumbled.

“I already told you, sweetie. It’s all fine.” Greg reassured and pulled Mycroft along into his bed.

Pulling the covers over both of them, he turned to kiss Mycroft goodnight, only to find him already dead asleep.

Greg smiled. Just twenty-four hours ago, he had been convinced that Mycroft was going to break up with him. And now he was lying in bed with Mycroft next to him, sleeping peacefully.

While he had hoped it, Greg never had thought he’d be in a relationship with a little one day. But now that Mycroft was snuggled safe in his arms, Greg vowed to protect him at all costs. He couldn’t wait to spend more time with his partner, as he had waited long enough.

He stroked his hair one last time and finally went to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have an eventful visit at Sherlock's.

Humming softly under his breath, Greg entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He had tried to wake Mycroft, but his partner had only grumbled, burrowing himself deeper under the covers. So he would let him continue sleeping for a few minutes. Greg had noticed that apparently his partner had a thumb – sucking habit and it was just adorable. But he couldn’t bring it up around Mycroft; otherwise he only would force himself to stop it.

To surprise him, Greg made pancakes with maple syrup. Months ago he had overheard Sherlock making a cynical remark about Mycroft’s diet and Greg had learned that pancakes were by far his favourite kind of breakfast. Since then Greg liked to make them periodically and somehow they always managed to comfort his partner on bad days. And Mycroft certainly deserved it after he had been so brave yesterday.

He moved to set the table, far less accurate than Mycroft preferred it, but it would suffice. When turning around, he caught sight of Mycroft, leaning against the door frame.

“It smells delicious in here, what have I done to deserve this?” Mycroft asked.

“Good morning, I thought you’d never wake up!” Greg teased him. “Consider it a little reward for yesterday.” He said, sitting down at the table and starting to eat. “Look, Mycroft ... I don’t want you going to work today.”

 “And why would that be?” The elder Holmes inquired, his voice emotionless.

“You were so close to slipping yesterday, what if you drop at work and no one’s there to help you?”

Mycroft scoffed. “It could happen at any point and if it were up to me it’d never do.” He replied, grabbing the newspaper and spreading it out on the kitchen table after he had finished eating.  “And I can’t hide at home whenever it suits me.”

“Can’t you just do it once? Only today?” Greg continued to bug him.

“I _am_ the British Government. All hell will break lose if I hide at home all the time.” Mycroft turned away, ignoring Greg. But it only took ten seconds until he broke under Greg’s pleading look.

“Fine! I’ll work from home. But I’ll need to visit my office when a crisis happens,” he warned Greg and was instantly rewarded with a tight hug.

“Thank you, love. I only want you to be safe today.” Greg said, kissing Mycroft’s cheek. A quick glance at the clock told him it was high time to get ready for work.

While Greg got ready, Mycroft occupied himself by calling Anthea. Afterwards Mycroft frowned, why had Anthea reacted so oddly? Did she suspect anything? He hoped not.

“I’ve got to leave now,” Greg called out, but not without hugging Mycroft one last time. Then he left.

Mycroft sighed, busying himself with paperwork. He already dreaded this day; surely it would drag on forever.   

\- - - -

Gregory had been right. Mycroft had had indeed problems with staying big and now that Greg was there again, he felt himself dropping fast. He purposely distanced himself for a few minutes to catch his breath. He really couldn’t slip now but he knew he was barely hanging on.

The day had been strange enough. He had _missed_ Greg. Sure, normally he thought about Greg at least a few times daily, but he had never felt quite like this. More than once he had been close to calling Greg only to hear his voice. He had longed to be in Greg’s arms. But he couldn’t afford to be clingy as there might be a risk of Greg getting angry, Mycroft concluded. He would need to observe his own behaviour closely as otherwise it could be distracting at work.

Mycroft huffed. It seemed as if he had spent his whole day either trying not to regress or trying not to cry. Had he done anything else in the last few days? Probably not.

Suddenly Gregory was there, waving his hand in front of Mycroft’s face.

“Lost in thoughts, huh? I still need to visit Sherlock; do you want to come with me?” Greg asked, expecting Mycroft to decline. He was pleasantly surprised when Mycroft actually agreed.

 

But Greg’s good mood didn’t last. He had asked Mycroft to wear a diaper, as it would be his first time in public since admitting his classification and Greg wasn’t sure how he would cope, especially in front of Sherlock.

As a result he had an overtired, fussy Mycroft on his hands. He suspected Mycroft was only barely preventing himself from dropping into headspace, of course far too stubborn to admit that he desperately needed it.

That was why Mycroft now behaved strange, a mix of complying and yet permanently complaining. He didn’t object that much, otherwise Greg would have dropped the matter, but he still managed to annoy Greg a bit. Luckily Greg was patient.

 “Everyone is going to know!” Mycroft whined. He was frustrated because Greg didn’t seem to listen to him.

“No one can see, sweetheart. It’s not visible under those pants. But I’m still surprised that you used to go without the security of diapers, just trusting those pills, rather than wearing a thin one.”

“Wetting myself wasn’t likely to happen and it was still far better than the alternative, being found wearing a diaper.”  Mycroft replied.

Greg thought being found out had been much more likely to happen if Mycroft had wet himself at work. But he didn’t push.

Instead he pulled his partner over to the mirror. Mycroft examined himself critically, only to find the diaper indeed hidden.

“Don’t you think it’s much better to be protected? If you have an accident, no one will be able to tell. Well, maybe Sherlock. But that doesn’t matter.”

“I won’t.” Mycroft stated confidently. Greg wasn’t so sure.

 

Dusk was already approaching as Mycroft and Greg entered 221B Bakerstreet. They both were exhausted, but Greg still needed to ask Sherlock how he had solved the last case. Because there already was a new one, Greg hadn’t had found the time to close it up. At least the murder had been found and it was enough to settle the media for the time being. Mycroft had only come with him as he didn’t want to be alone at home. He suspected Greg knew, but he didn’t mention anything, so Mycroft surely wouldn’t either.  

“Greg?” It was John, standing in the kitchen and currently preparing tea. “Do you want a cup?” Greg declined and John turned to ask Mycroft, who also declined.

John put his own tea down on the table and sat down. “So, are you here because of that case? It really was disgusting, wasn’t it?” He shuddered and gestured for them to sit.

Sherlock began rattling of deductions, but Mycroft stopped listening as he already knew how Sherlock had solved the case.

Lost in thoughts, he was startled by Greg yelling at Sherlock.

“How many times do you want me to say it? Stop withholding crime evidence! That isn’t just some stuff you can keep for yourself! Do you have the slightest idea how bad the media is, especially when a little one is involved? This is serious! People will –“

“Then tell Anderson to stop annoying me! I can’t work with such incompetent people!”

Mycroft winced. The yelling worsened the throbbing in his head and somehow he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t stand the noise anymore. He wanted them to be _quiet_.

“Papa, stop it,” Mycroft whined. Lestrade instantly stopped speaking and looked at him, clearly concerned. When Mycroft registered what he had said, he paled. What had he done? His eyes widened and he fled the room before anyone was able to stop him. It was completely silent in the living room and only Mycroft’s footsteps on the stairs and the slamming door were heard.

“Is that … a sex thing?” John broke the silence.

“Definitely not!” Greg snapped at him, voice deathly cold.  “And even if it was, it’s none of your business!”

“Honestly, John,” Sherlock interjected, glaring at him. “Do you really have such a hard time understanding? I thought your ability to make deductions had improved, but apparently not.”

John was offended. “I was just asking! It’s just that … if it’s not a sexual thing, what is it then?” He turned to enter his bedroom when neither Greg nor Sherlock answered. “Well, if you won’t answer, forget about it!”

“Mycroft’s a little.”

Dead silence followed this statement.

John had stopped and stared at Sherlock. “Yeah, sure, and pigs might fly.” He tried to joke, but he stilled when Sherlock sternly looked at him.

“When it’s not sexual, what else could it be? You’re perfectly aware that only Littles have such a nickname for their partner. Don’t play stupid, it never works.” Sherlock spoke completely calm, but his eyes sparkled of fury.

“Thanks, but that’s enough, Sherlock.” Greg interrupted him before Sherlock had the chance to make it even worse. It was already bad enough that Mycroft’s secret had been blown; he really didn’t need Sherlock blurting out deductions.

“I only spoke the truth, and you know it.  But I suggest you go after my brother, he’ll be on the edge of slipping, if he hasn’t yet.”

Greg didn’t bother waiting for John’s reply. He hastened down the stairs, out of the door and only calmed down when he spotted one of those black cars they had used to come here. At least Mycroft had waited for him.

He knocked on the window and opened the car door.

\- - - -

Mycroft rushed down the stairs. Only when he was safely in his car and had ordered his driver to wait, he paused to think.

It was only now fully sinking in that he’d just slipped up in front of three people. Sure, Gregory and Sherlock already had known, but Dr. Watson hadn’t.

"Oh God," he whispered, his throat nearly too tight to speak.

His vision got blurry and his breath hitched. What on earth had he done? Now John knew that he was a little. Maybe he thought Mycroft was disgusting. He didn’t care for John’s opinion, but he was scared that it would change Sherlock’s view of him. What if his brother hated him now? Sure, Sherlock had been accepting, but he never mentioned it and also never had seen Mycroft acting childish. He hadn’t wanted Sherlock to ever see him like this, but now he had.  Mycroft was _mortified_.

He had only dropped because he had stopped focusing on Greg’s interrogation and it had allowed him to get lost in his thoughts and therefore sink into headspace.

What was wrong with him? It had been only two days ago that he had told Greg of his classification and his body already didn’t work the way he wanted it to. He had spent nearly all the time crying, which was despicable. Now he needed to be focused on staying big at all times. Prior to the whole thing, he never had any problems with preventing dropping.

He could count the numbers of times he had regressed in his entire life on one hand and yet here he was. He hadn’t felt this close to dropping in years and currently needed all of this strength to pull himself together.

Most likely it was because he stopped taking his pills, he concluded. As he shifted in his seat, Mycroft mortifyingly noticed that he had indeed wet himself earlier. And he hadn’t even felt the need to pee. He already dreaded the next few weeks.

 

He was startled by a knock on the window, but calmed down when he caught sight of Greg entering the car.

He tried his best to hide any tears and appear unaffected, but he knew he couldn’t fool Gregory. His raised eyebrows nearly had Mycroft crying again.

Greg started to speak, but Mycroft held up one finger to stop him. Only after he had closed the window which separated them from the driver and told him to drive them home, he signalled to Greg to speak. Now they couldn’t be seen or heard.

When Mycroft made no move to buckle himself, Greg reached over and did it himself. “Sherlock told John,” Greg stated gently. He needed to continue carefully; otherwise he would have a full – blown meltdown on his hands. “He didn’t believe it at first, but he didn’t react that negatively.” Greg didn’t bother telling him that he hadn’t actually heard John replying.

Mycroft got a little bit closer to Greg and played with his hair; for reasons unknown to him it soothed him. Greg smiled. It was fantastic that Mycroft didn’t shy away anymore, and he hoped this incident hadn’t destroyed everything.

“I’m fine. Really, Gregory. I don’t care for Dr. Watson, you know that.”  Mycroft assured him. Greg didn’t believe it for one second.

“Honeybee,” he said, his voice softening. And it succeeded in making Mycroft cry once again. He tried to hide his tears, but Gregory had already seen and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Everyone knows,” Mycroft whispered, voice terribly small. “And I exposed you.” He hid his face in Greg’s chest, reluctant to face his partner. He didn’t care that he was clingy; he simply wanted Greg to make the awful suffocating feeling go away.

“Mycroft, please look at me.” Greg asked him. “Show me your pretty eyes, love.”

Mycroft hesitantly looked up. What he found when he looked up, though, wasn’t what he’d expected. Greg looked at him lovingly, no ounce of hatred or disappointment in his eyes.

“It really is fine, Sherlock and I already knew and John won’t bother you. He wouldn’t dare.” Greg smirked. “Papa’s honored that you granted him such a special nickname and he’s so sorry for shouting, baby boy. It wasn’t directed at you, but I understand that you felt overwhelmed.”

“It’s okay.” Greg tickled him lightly in response, causing Mycroft to giggle softly.

Greg pulled away slightly. “What do you think of being little tonight, Myc?”

Mycroft stared at him, eyes haunted by something Greg couldn’t identify.

“I’ve – Never have been little ‘round  others,” Mycroft admitted.

“We’ll go slowly; maybe I can read you a story before bed, if you want to.”

Mycroft paused. He ached for someone to take care of him and he trusted Greg. Maybe it was fine to want it?

“’Want ‘story,” Mycroft said and Greg smiled, buried his face in Mycroft’s hair and lightly kissed his head.

“Papa?” Mycroft mumbled after a long pause and leaned against Greg. 

“Yes, sweetie?”

“'Need a change, please.”

Greg sighed. “We’ll get you changed as soon as we’re home, little one.”

For the rest of the drive Mycroft was content with simply looking out of the window, snuggled close to his Papa and his thumb firmly in his mouth.

\- - - -

As soon as their apartment door was closed, Mycroft turned around to face Greg, lifting his arms in a silent request to be picked up. Greg gladly obeyed and lifted Mycroft onto his hip, carrying him into the kitchen and sitting him onto the counter.

Mycroft was passively sucking on his fingers while Greg kneeled to take off his shoes and his coat.

He lightly tapped Mycroft on the nose to get his attention. “I’m going to prepare dinner; meanwhile you can get yourself changed.” He said and helped Mycroft to hop off the counter.

Mycroft looked at him with wide, tearful eyes. “Papa does it?” He whimpered.

“’Course I can, love.” Greg replied, stunned that Mycroft trusted him so much. He carried Mycroft to his bed, picking a diaper out of the wardrobe and quickly changed him. Mycroft had pulled the blanket over his face and Greg took the opportunity to blow a raspberry on his tummy, drawing a surprised laugh out of him.

After they had eaten a quick dinner, Greg picked Mycroft up again and carried him into his own bedroom. Maybe they could share one bedroom now, Greg thought and decided to ask Mycroft when he was big again. For now, he searched for a story appropriate for Littles on his cell phone. When he found it, he laid down next to his little boy. Pulling Mycroft closer, he began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's certainly a handful.

Greg checked his pants pockets to make sure he had his wallet with him. It was a sunny Saturday about two weeks after Mycroft had slipped in front of Sherlock and John. During this time Mycroft had once again chosen to avoid Greg, but Greg had ignored it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before his classification was revealed and he understood that Mycroft needed space to come to peace with everything.

Still, Greg already hoped to never experience such a start of the day again. Mycroft had been demanding, to put it lightly. It seemed as if everything Greg did was wrong. Some things he could understand, such as the fact Mycroft had deemed the black cars which were his usual mode of transportation as too suspicious. He had even chosen to wear different clothes that disguised him. Greg found it a bit too much, but he didn’t complain. His partner was deeply afraid of being found out and Greg surely wouldn’t make fun of him.

All that trouble was because Greg had informed him a few days ago that they would be going to a particular store today. It sold products for Littles and ever since Mycroft had known, Greg faced his erratic mood swings. He certainly behaved younger, sometimes he was as clingy and needy as a two-year-old and other times he was like a teenager. Mycroft had been completely big after his slip-up, but now the prospect that he would need to set feet into a dreaded classification store seemed enough to make him lose his control. While Greg felt glad that Myc felt safe enough to behave this way, it was still very exhausting. And he suspected that their stopping trip would go the same way.

The cab ride was quick. Greg left the cab after Mycroft and took a deep breath. They still needed to walk a bit, because Mycroft didn’t want to drive any further. A backpack that he had converted to a diaper bag hanging over his shoulder, Greg entered the store, Mycroft trailing along.

\- - - -

And that was how Mycroft found himself in a store for Littles. The only positive thing was that he wasn’t immediately identifiable as Mycroft Holmes. However, he feared his status as a Little was obvious because it was likely that one part of each couple in this store was Little. And Greg didn’t look one bit like a Little. He really didn’t like having his classification known. At least he managed to hide his daytime diapers now.

He had chosen this store simply because it was one of the most private ones and they praised themselves on customer service. It was more expensive, but at least less people were here. While stores which only granted access to highly important Littles existed, Mycroft certainly didn’t plan on exposing his identity this way. Besides, he would only get the necessary member card after filing an application and then his classification would be public.

He didn’t even want to be here. He didn’t need any supplies, he was perfectly fine! Greg was the one adamant on buying unnecessary stuff.  Sure, it was nice being read a story and yes, he had regressed a bit – but still, he didn’t exactly _need_ it. Although having a few things would probably make it even more pleasant… Mycroft didn’t allow himself to think any further. He decided to simply protest, surely Greg would give up his plans if Mycroft just refused firmly enough. But for now he had no other choice but to resign to his fate and fetch the shopping cart.

“Mycroft, if you want, you can look around and chose things you want. I’ll be right here.” Greg turned to look at him expectantly.

But Mycroft stayed right where he was. “I don’t need anything. Just tell me when you’re finished.”

Greg sighed. Mycroft really seemed determined on making their shopping trip hell.

 

It was about as dull as Mycroft had expected. The entire shopping trip consisted of him stubbornly avoiding every glance at the shelves with colorful products, while Greg continued to fill their cart to the brim. He had found it nearly pointless to ask Mycroft for his opinions as he didn’t get answers anyway.

“Myc? Do you want pacifiers with cats or penguins on them?” Greg tried once again and came closer to show him the items. Mycroft looked at him unfazed and Greg got the hint. He dropped both pacifiers in the shopping cart and pushed it to the next aisle.

He took his time to pick out a few bottles. While he didn’t want to overwhelm Mycroft, they still needed basic supplies and even that was a huge amount. Luckily he found ones with little umbrellas printed on them and picked them up immediately, along with a pair with stars on them.

He turned to look at Mycroft, but he wasn’t there. Greg tried to keep the panic that instantly consumed him at bay, but he knew he failed. The few seconds it took him to rush down the aisle felt like hours. Just as he turned to search another aisle, he caught sight of a familiar coat. Greg quickly walked over to Mycroft but paused when he found him enthralled with a stuffed animal. He had to stop himself from cooing because it was extremely adorable.  Lightly sucking on two of his fingers, Mycroft was completely fixated on stroking the animal’s fur, which Greg identified as a white owl.

“It’s lovely, sweetie.” Greg told him, voice soft. He hoped Mycroft went into headspace, but it didn’t seem to be the case as Mycroft wheeled around, startled. Greg noticed he was still sucking on his fingers, even while he was staring at Greg, almost terrified. His little – no, his partner, because he wasn’t his little yet, at least not officially – certainly had an oral fixation.

“It’s okay, Myc,” Greg tried to reassure him. When it didn’t work, he pulled Mycroft into a tight hug and shushed him when he heard his shuddering breaths. The stroking of his padded butt confirmed his suspicion, his boy was wet.

“As much as I know you love it, please don’t put your fingers in your mouth,” Greg lightly scolded him. The effect was instant; Mycroft wiggled away, blushing.

Greg picked up the forgotten stuffed animal. “Do you want to have your owl?” He asked, playing with it like a puppet in front of Mycroft’s face. He saw his eyes go unfocused again, before he quickly snapped himself back into adult headspace.

“No!” His reply was quick, maybe too quick, before he walked away.

Greg sighed. Nonetheless, he picked up the owl and carried it to their shopping cart that had been abandoned in all the commotion earlier. He took care to hide it under other stuff so Mycroft wouldn’t instantly see it.

Meanwhile Mycroft wiped his eyes to get rid of the few tears. He had cried over a stuffed owl, how infantile could he get? What happened to his plan? So much for protesting, he hadn’t said a single word. Instead he had sucked his fingers like a stupid baby that lost his pacifier!

He was interrupted by Greg, who steered him towards a different area. Mycroft groaned when he caught sight of the sign that advertised the changing room for families. His attempt to slip away was prevented by Greg who opened the door and pushed Mycroft along with their shopping cart in.

It was a single room with enough space for both of them along with their cart, the toilet, the sink and the large changing table. The lockable door would help assuring Mycroft that no one could interrupt them.

Greg set the backpack down next to the door and faced Mycroft who had blushed darkly. To be on the safe side Greg moved to lock the door.

 “What’re we doing here?” Mycroft demanded to know.  

Greg knew Mycroft was fully aware of the purpose of the room and only asked to protest.

“Changing you.” He bluntly stated, kneeled next to the bag and removed diapers along with wipes.

“I don’t need a change!” Mycroft complained, glaring daggers at his partner. “And I could do it myself, I’m not little! I don’t even want to be here.”

“Well, you don’t exactly have a choice right now, Myc.” Greg kept his voice calm and put the supplies for the diaper change on the table.

Suddenly Mycroft’s voice turned quivery. “You said you wouldn’t force me. You promised!” His voice held an accusatory note, but Greg was patient.

“Yeah, but if you keep behaving like a toddler, I’m going to treat you like one.” And with these words he walked over to Mycroft and swiftly lifted him up onto the changing table.

He opened Mycroft’s jeans and pulled them down. “Look, I won’t force you to do things you really hate. But sometimes I need to do things for your own good, such as changing you right now, because I know exactly that otherwise you just suffer a rash.”

Mycroft started to sit up, but Greg managed to grip his shoulders and pushed him down again. “No,” he whimpered.

Greg did his best to be fast and cleaned him quickly, lifted his hips and put the diaper underneath.

Pulling the front up and closing it, he spoke softly. “It’s okay; I understand that you are overwhelmed. Still, we are here because you need to have some things and I certainly don’t fancy you fighting every step of the way.”

 “But I’m not little, you don’t need to treat me this way.” Mycroft continued protesting, tears forming in his eyes.

“You keep saying that, but you don’t exactly behave like an adult, sweetie. And you don’t need to, it’s completely fine if you want to drop.” Greg assured him, pulling his jeans back up.

“I wouldn’t drop if you hadn’t forced me into here.” Mycroft scowled and sat up.

“Honestly, Mycroft,” Greg was growing annoyed. “You can’t possibly think that nothing would change. I won’t ignore your classification, partly because I know you don’t want me to. Otherwise you never would’ve told me.” He continued after Mycroft chose to be silent. “If you truly loathed everything, your reaction would be completely different. I believe I know you very well by now, and this isn’t how you react when you dislike something.”

“It’s because you don’t understand! I don’t want to be here, I don’t want you to buy anything! Can’t you just pretend nothing of this ever happened? Certainly would be better for both of us!” Mycroft’s voice turned aggressive and he leaped down onto the floor.

“Mycroft, that’s enough.” Greg warned him.

But Mycroft’s face turned even darker and he was faster out of the door than Greg could react.

“Great,” Greg pinched his nose. It was only the second time he went out with Mycroft and he had lost him twice. He really was an incapable caretaker.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's slow, but they make progress.

Hurriedly throwing all supplies into their backpack, Greg ran out of the door, leaving their shopping cart there. Mycroft wasn’t nearby anymore, that much was visible at just a glance, and Greg’s heart started to pound as he frantically looked around the rest of the store. Normally Greg knew that it wasn’t very likely that something had already happened to Mycroft, not in that short amount of time and especially not when Greg considered that he hadn’t been little.  But now his panicked state of mind caused him to imagine the worst scenarios possible and he had to use all of his mental strength to focus on the current situation.

Even though he had been walking around the store for the last few minutes, Greg still didn’t spot his partner, who was really more like his stubborn little boy at the moment. But fortunately, he saw an employee as he came closer to the register.

Placing all of his remaining hope to find Mycroft into the employee, Greg walked over to him. “Excuse me? Did you see a man, about my height, wearing black clothes?” He described the disguise Mycroft was wearing while he continued to scan around for him.

The employee pointed him in the direction of the store exit and Greg cursed. Most likely Mycroft was already outside and miles away. Had this happened just a month ago, Greg wouldn’t have really cared if Mycroft had decided to leave on his own. Sure, he would have been pissed that Mycroft ignored him this way, but now it was different.  Now Greg knew exactly that Mycroft was barely hanging on being big. Great. It was a bloody nightmare.  

Greg walked as quickly as possible over to the store exit, taking care to avoid crashing into other customers. He almost wished he could persuade Mycroft to wear brightly colored clothes the next time they went out together. At least then Greg would be able to easily spot him if he continued to run away. But such clothes would be highly unnatural for Mycroft and he wanted him to still have dignity, although the mental image caused Greg to laugh softly.

Finally he caught sight of Mycroft who was already behind the register and close to the exit, far too close for Greg’s liking. Hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, Mycroft was visible tense and seemed determined on leaving without Greg.

Greg frowned. It had been more than enough time for Mycroft to leave, so why was he still here? Maybe he had been unsure if he really should leave. At least Greg hoped so.

Running up to him, Greg was quick to snatch his arm and spun Mycroft around to face him.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he took an involuntary step backwards, but he didn’t ty to free himself of Greg’s grip. Instead, his eyes were slowly filling up with tears, but he didn’t allow them to fall.

Now that Mycroft was found and safe, Greg finally let out a huge breath, though the relief was short-lived. Rather, he was growing visibly angry.

 “What on earth, Mycroft! What's the matter with you?” Greg wanted to yell at him, but he kept his voice quiet. They really didn’t need a bunch of nosy people staring, especially not when Mycroft seemed to have a meltdown at any given moment.

“Is it necessary to discuss this right now, Gregory?” Mycroft asked softly, his voice cracking on the last word.

Greg simply nodded and guided Mycroft with his hand on his back to their shopping cart. They still needed a ton of supplies. Hell, Greg didn’t even know the age Mycroft regressed to. Originally he had hoped that Mycroft would give him some hints, but now he would need to continue guessing because Mycroft certainly wasn’t keen on sharing any information.  While Greg had packed the stuff in the cart because Mycroft’s dependency on diapers and his general behaviour hinted towards a younger age, he still couldn’t be completely sure.

Constantly keeping an eye on Mycroft, Greg pushed the cart towards a seemingly empty corner of the store to allow both of them an illusion of privacy.

“Alright, Mycroft, now you have time to tell me why the fuck you decided to run away from me!” Greg found himself staring Mycroft down and forced himself to stop. Instead, he used the one tactic to which he knew Mycroft would react right away.

“That doesn’t exactly speak of adult behavior, does it?” Greg stated. The key was to hint at his behaviour being childish, which was immature of Greg himself but he didn’t have the patience now.

“Gregory, please, stop this nonsense.” Mycroft tried to stay quiet for the sake of his public image. While he hopefully wasn’t identifiable, he still didn’t want to have a public outburst right now. “I can choose to leave this store whenever I want to. It is utterly annoying that you speak to me like I’m a moody child!”

“You think? And, tell me, what exactly was your plan once you were outside?”

“There’s still my driver. Or I could call a cab.”

“Of course you would have.” Greg answered, managing to fill these words with a lot of doubt. “Besides, I thought you didn’t want Anthea or anyone else to know where you are.” It was a huge difference from Mycroft’s usual self. Normally he seemed completely composed, but his little self was far more impulsive. 

Mycroft’s self-confidence visibly faltered and he shuffled his feet, avoiding Greg’s eyes. He kept his head down until Greg’s hand slipped under his chin, forcing him to look up and meet Greg’s gaze.

“You don’t ever think about the possibility that I worry, do you?” Greg said gently. “Mycroft, listen to me. Everything’s okay, you’re okay. I know you’re scared, but you don’t need to have it all figured out. And I promise you that I’m going to be there for you, no matter whether you decide you want to be little or not, sweetheart.” 

While he hoped to reassure Mycroft, Greg was simultaneously treading on thin line. The wrong answer would upset Mycroft immensely. On the one hand, he wanted to take care of Mycroft. It was obvious that he wanted it, but was terrified of actually depending on Greg. On the other hand he really didn’t want to corner Mycroft. Patronizing him would destroy all progress they had already made. 

Mycroft took his words badly. “Let me go!” he yelled and struggled against Greg’s hold, but he didn’t manage to free himself. “I’m not little right now! Even if I was, you don’t have any right to infantilize me. I’m not your Little!” He snapped, clenching his fists.

“No,” Greg said. He looked around and noticed that they had attracted quite a few bystanders. Luckily, Greg staring at them was enough to scare them away and he could focus on Mycroft again. “You’re right, you’re not mine. But still, for now you’ll listen to me. I don’t want you running across the parking lot, possibly being hit by a car. You already managed to scare the living daylights out of me!”

They would discuss at home whether Greg had any rights to properly care for Mycroft, at least if Myc would finally speak his mind on Greg being his official caregiver. But Greg didn’t voice as much. It would only upset Mycroft further.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth.  “I never agreed to this, stop ordering me around! How often do I need to tell that I’m not a child?”

 “You are the one throwing a tantrum,” Greg reminded him. “If you have a problem with what I’m doing right now, you can calmly discuss it with me. But I won’t listen to you with his behavior.”   

Greg interrupted Mycroft before he could speak again.

“Look, Mycroft. You’re obviously not in a right state of mind. Unless you can promise me that you’re fully adult right now, which you can _not_ , I’m going to take responsibility for you.” Greg held up a hand to stop Mycroft’s protests. “And that includes treating you like a toddler, if you want to describe it this way. I know you don’t fully understand me, which is absolutely fine, but I’m sure a part of you knows that I’m right.” Most likely a part of Mycroft even appreciated Greg taking charge.

When Mycroft didn’t answer, Greg silently held out his arms. Mycroft paused, but finally stepped in for a hug. Greg pulled the other man into his arms, pleased when Mycroft sank deeper and clung to his chest. Very slowly, the tension left Mycroft’s body.

“’Sorry,” Mycroft mumbled, his breath hitching. Greg felt his shoulder dampen with tears, but he didn’t mention it. “For running ‘way… and complaining.” Mycroft continued in a small voice.

“You’re forgiven, Honeybee. And of course you can criticize me, but please, without throwing a tantrum.” Greg said. Normally Mycroft didn’t apologize for such things, but nothing was normal at the moment.

Aware of the fact that they were still standing in a public store, Greg wanted to finish the shopping. He quickly checked the cart. They had diapers along with supplies, pacifiers, bottles, sippy cups and Mycroft’s stuffed owl. It wasn’t much, but enough to guarantee basic care for Mycroft while not overwhelming him. At least if he wanted Greg to care for him. Originally he had planned to let Mycroft chose a few toys, but now it was necessary to get him home as quick as possible. It wasn’t like Mycroft couldn’t buy toys himself, but rather that Greg liked to provide him with a few nice things.

Taking Mycroft’s hand into his, Greg walked over to the register to pay. He pretended not to notice Mycroft being unusually fidgety next to him and was glad when they didn’t need to wait very long. Not long after they were outside, their stuff stored in his backpack and several bags.

“Sorry, but I’m not walking all the way home. Either we call Anthea or a cab.” Greg said.

Mycroft thought for a moment. “It’s not necessary to call Anthea. One of my drivers will suffice. However, we’ll need to walk quite a bit. I cannot be seen here.”

Greg sighed. For Mycroft’s sake he hoped that the bags and their content weren’t too obvious, but at least the store’s logo wasn’t printed onto them.

Mycroft quickly dialed someone and informed Greg that the car would pick them up in about ten minutes at a nearby street. Giving some bags to Mycroft, Greg shouldered the rest.

On their way they passed through a small park, one of those which included a playground for Littles as the equipment was designed to be large enough for an adult. Several Littles were playing there and Greg immediately imagined Mycroft joining them. While it surely would be beyond adorable, it was very unlikely that Mycroft would agree. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask, Greg thought.

“Do you want to play for a bit? I don’t mind if you want to.” Greg asked, putting his arm around Mycroft.

Mycroft only flushed and lightly glared at Greg in response. They continued walking and Greg saw Mycroft sneaking looks at the playground when he thought the DI wasn’t looking.

Finally Greg stopped him. “I’m serious, Mycroft.” he told him.

 “But … I can’t,” Mycroft replied, his voice almost mournful. It was adorable. At work he was the powerful Ice Man, but now he was glancing shyly at Greg, looking unsure and nothing like the British Government.

“Bollocks,” Greg said. “Of course you can. You’re disguised, no one will recognize you. I already told you, Myc. Look at all the other Littles, they are playing just like you can.”

Mycroft just shook his head, slipped his hand into Greg’s and pulled him towards the car. Greg sighed. It was pointless to argue, Mycroft had made his point and as much as he wanted to, he would never allow himself to play carefree. Especially not in public. 


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft vanished into his bedroom, leaving Greg to unpack their purchases. It was already late enough that the sun was setting, the last rays of sunshine visible through the window. 

Mycroft threw himself face down on his bed. He needed time to think. This day had been a complete disaster and he wondered how Greg could stand him. Surely Greg would leave him soon if he continued to behave this way.

He crawled underneath the blanket and closed his eyes, absently sucking his thumb. Mycroft breathed out shakily, wishing that he had one of the pacifiers Gregory had bought. For years he had managed to ignore his longing for them, but now, the sight of them had awoken memories he had thought long forgotten.

Mycroft remembered exactly how Sherlock used to mock him because he had used pacifiers even after he had been far too old. As a child Mycroft had chewed on nearly everything, pens and pencils, his thumb and other fingers. This was one of the factors that made him suspect that he was a Little, along with his weak bladder. One time, he had bought a set of pacifiers to test it, only to quickly grow attached to them. Sherlock had seen them and the endless mockery began.

His brother had been young and unaware of the early signs of classifications and to be fair, ever since he had known of Mycroft’s status as a Little, his insults had stopped. Instead, he had turned his focus to Mycroft's weight.

Still, Sherlock had been the key factor for his decision to get rid of his habit as the insults certainly had contributed to his low self-esteem.  Sherlock had never been disciplined by their parents for his behaviour because as far as Mycroft knew, their parents had never noticed anything, although they had obviously learnt of his official classification later on. Mycroft had done his fair share of damage control for the past few decades to ensure no one else knew of this, it was enough that his family – and Greg – knew.

It had taken him until the beginning of adulthood to finally give up the pacifiers. And to this day, he vividly remembered the countless weeks of sleepless nights which consisted of uselessly lying in bed and desperately trying to distract himself.

Eventually he had allowed himself to continue sucking his thumb because it had been impossible to actually sleep. While he needed far less sleep than other people, he still didn’t function well on the tiny amount he had gotten during that time. Admittedly sucking his thumb wasn’t much better than pacifiers, but at least he wasn’t in possession of items which could destroy his life if they were discovered by the wrong people.

And now, decades later, Gregory offered him the opportunity again. To be cared for. To be loved.

Pressing his hand against his mouth, Mycroft smothered a gasp as he tried desperately not to cry.

He was sure that Gregory wouldn’t mock him like Sherlock had.  But still, he had refused. The risks were far too high, Gregory would leave eventually. Then he would be alone once again while being used to being taken care of and completely accustomed to depending on someone else.  This would be his final breaking point and Mycroft was sure he wouldn’t manage to cope.

Sure, Gregory had told him that he didn’t plan on leaving, but didn’t everyone leave eventually? Certainly Gregory would, once he realised just what of a burden Mycroft really was.

Wiping his face to get rid of a few tears, Mycroft threw his blanket away. Gathering the small remainder of self-control he still had, he got up and went to the bathroom as he was in dire need of a shower, grabbing clothes on the way out.  

He stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the water on. Very slowly, his body began to relax under the hot spray, only the stress of his mind remaining.

He slouched against the shower wall and let the hot water run over his body for a few minutes.

What should he do now? The only safe way to avoid disappointment was to break things off with Gregory. Mycroft’s emotional side firmly protested, but his logical side knew that this was the only option. However, he had already tried to avoid Greg and it had always failed.

As soon as Greg said something in his gentle voice, Mycroft always cracked. Maybe it would work when they weren’t talking face to face? He didn’t exactly want to split up via phone but it was better than Greg being pressured in something that would never work.

He turned the shower off and stepped out into the steam of the bathroom. Mycroft dried off and wrapped his dressing gown around himself, shivering. In spite of all the thick clothing he could still feel the chill deep in his bones.

Entering his bedroom and turning to this wardrobe, he picked out simple sweatpants along with a matching sweater. Contrary to what Sherlock believed, he actually owned casual clothing and he preferred it when he was at home and not working. While it didn’t provide his usual battle armour like his suits did, the change of clothes allowed him to establish enough distance between his small amount of free time and work.  

Mentally checking his schedule for tomorrow, he decided to go to bed early as he had an important telephone call to make at dawn and he was feeling particularly exhausted. He needed to be available to solve international matters at all times and this included making calls even though it was Sunday. And by going to bed, he would successfully avoid Gregory for the rest of the day.

It was when he glanced at the bed, that he caught sight of it.  Mycroft stopped dead and stared, somehow finding himself beside the bed. On that bed, nestled against the pillow, was the owl. It was white and clearly brand-new, the huge eyes staring at him. Slowly, he picked it up, unable to resist smoothing the soft fur with his fingers.  

But Mycroft couldn’t help but frown, his adult side taking over. He was far too old to have a stuffed animal, even though it was very soft and cuddly.

Making a rash decision, he threw it under the bed, wanting to banish it from his mind. On second thought, maybe he had hurt its feelings? Immediately after thinking this, Mycroft scoffed. That was ridiculous, it was just an inanimate piece of textile. And still, he couldn’t keep feeling guilty for throwing it. He kneeled and retrieved it from underneath the bed, removing any specks of dust he could find.

His vision got blurry and a sob swelled in his throat. Papa- No. It was Gregory, he wasn’t supposed to call him Papa in his mind. _Gregory_ had bought his owl. Even though Mycroft had thrown a tantrum and protested every step of the way, Gregory had still been nice and caring. He had even brought the owl in his room while he had been showering. The image of having Greg as his caregiver, as his _Papa_ was clear in his mind, the desire to run and throw himself into his arms was, for one second, overwhelming.

He could clearly see it. How it would be to have someone who actually cared for him, and wasn’t pretending. What it was like to have toys and stuffed animals.

Mycroft had already experienced a bit of Gregory’s love during the last month and he wanted to have it again. Even in his mind he couldn’t pretend anymore. He wanted Gregory to be his caregiver. He wanted it _so much_ that even with his massive vocabulary there were no words to articulate his need. And it hurt _so much_ because he knew that there was no way he could take the risks.

Mycroft slumped to his knees, putting his head against the bed. The sobs came fast and loud, the world completely blurring in front of his eyes. He cried tears that had been waiting to be released for more years than he bothered to count. He cried because it felt so _good_ to be cared for, but it just wasn’t possible. Even he couldn’t think of a way that would allow it, at least not without taking advantage of Gregory, and he howled louder because of this realisation.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, lightly grabbing it. Mycroft flinched, instantly striking out. His arm was caught and he flailed frantically, trying to free himself. 

“Hey. Mycroft! C’mon, sweetie, calm down.” Greg said, releasing Mycroft’s arm and stepping away slightly.

Breathing heavily, Mycroft turned to look at Greg, still sitting on the floor.  He was aware of how pathetic he must look right now with the tears staining his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much at this point.

Greg raised both hands, slowly approaching him until it was clear that Mycroft wouldn’t shy away.

“Heard you crying, Myc.” Greg whispered, the statement obvious, but Mycroft didn’t react. “You didn’t answer when I knocked.”

Mycroft couldn’t stop crying. He wiped both of his eyes furiously, but there were still tears coming.

Greg’s eyes were full of concern, but Mycroft managed to ignore it, right up until the point where Greg crouched down on the floor and pulled him into a warm hug.

Only when Mycroft felt Greg holding him tightly, he realized how much he had been waiting for comfort. Comfort, that was given willingly, but which Mycroft didn’t deserve.  

Mycroft still pressed his face against Greg’s shoulder, soaking up as much love as he could before it would inevitably end. He was a mess and continued to wet the fabric of Greg’s clothes with his tears, but Greg didn’t push him way. Instead, Greg’s steady hands continued to stroke a soothing rhythm through his hair and all the way down to his back.

He scooped Mycroft up, securing him in his arms as he rose carefully from the floor. Mycroft gripped tightly around his neck, making sure to hold on to his owl, and Greg brought both of them on the bed, bringing Mycroft down onto his chest.

Mycroft had finally stopped crying, sure that he didn’t have any tears left. He sniffled, tightly grabbing Greg’s shirt and inhaling his scent.

“Greg,” Mycroft whimpered around his thumb, and just when exactly had he started sucking on it?

 It had happened again, Mycroft thought. As soon as Gregory acted caring, Mycroft melted in his arms. He knew he didn’t deserve to seek comfort because he was bound to destroy their entire relationship, but it was so hard to resist. Reluctantly, he removed his thumb from his mouth and moved away from Greg, only to have Greg put his arm around him again.

“Gregory, we need to talk.” Mycroft said.

“Yeah, we do.” Greg answered, not pausing his stroking of Mycroft’s back for one second. “Do you want to start?”

“We cannot- do this anymore. It has to stop, it compromises my entire career. And it’s not fair for you.” Mycroft spoke softly and started to bring his thumb up to his mouth again, but stopped once he got aware of what he was doing.

 “What exactly are you talking about, Mycroft?” Greg asked.

“You know exactly what I mean, Gregory.”

“Oh? You mean your classification? Do you want to talk about how you’re desperately trying to cope without regressing, soaking up any amount of care you can get, because you have been touch starved your entire life? Or maybe you want to talk about how you are eaten up with self-doubt –“

“Stop it!” Mycroft interrupted, drawing his knees up to his chest. He hated that Gregory knew him so well. He didn’t want to talk about it.

He knew what Greg planned to do. He wanted to provoke Mycroft, to get an answer. He wanted Mycroft to tell him if he wanted Greg to be his caregiver.

He wanted it so much. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say it loud. There was only way to end everything.

“Greg, I – I don’t – w-want this.” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“Sweetheart,” Greg said, drawing Mycroft back into his arms. He hugged him tightly, feeling him tremble. “Of course you don’t want this, Mycroft. There’s no reason why you called me Papa or let me change your diaper.” Greg continued, his voice completely calm.

Mycroft opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, there was just a choked sob.

He continued to be silent, only stroking his owl absently, the only sounds coming from Greg, who was softly humming.

“I – I’ve tried to look at it … objectively- but I d-don’t know the p-possibility of you-“ Mycroft stopped, instead burying himself deeply into Greg’s embrace. No one else had ever offered him this kind of relationship before. It was completely platonic, full of devotion and affection. But while Gregory was nothing but loyal, surely he would get tired of Mycroft soon. 

“The risk that I’m going to abandon you?” Greg kissed Mycroft’s head, rocking him slightly.

Mycroft nodded in lieu of responding, afraid his voice would crack if he spoke.

“You are deceiving yourself, Mycroft. You want this, all of it. Both of us know it.” Greg moved, looking into Mycroft’s eyes, his thumb caressing his check, slow and soft. “I think you’re afraid. Afraid of what the future will bring.”

That caused Mycroft to break. He didn’t know to cope. He wrapped his arms tightly around Greg’s neck and held onto him. Greg said nothing, only stroking his back steadily, and Mycroft’s fingers tightened their hold onto his back. 

When Mycroft spoke, his voice shrank into a whimper. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. I faked it my entire life, hid my nature away, only to have it all in the open now. I don’t want- to fake it with you, Greg, that’s why I told you, and yes, I’m afraid, and it hurts because I know it’s never going to happen-“

“Mycroft, deep breaths,” Greg murmured. “Thank you for telling me. But why do you think it’s not going to happen? Please talk to me, sweetie, if you’re up to it.”

Mycroft was silent, curling against Greg’s chest. He hated how weak he felt, hating how much he needed the security of Greg’s embrace. Greg’s fingers stroked through his hair, Mycroft’s owl sitting squished between them.

“Is it me? If you don’t want me, it’s fine, I’ll organise you a different caregiver. But I won’t watch how you destroy yourself.”

“No,” Mycroft said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s me.” The fabric of Greg’s clothes crumpled as he held it tightly. “Greg, I – I don’t think it’s a good idea. You shouldn’t care for me. You wouldn’t have a simple escape, of course you can leave me, but that’s wasted time then-“

Greg intervened and took Mycroft’s jaw into his hands. Mycroft stilled.

“Never say this again, please, Myc.” He spoke softly. “Not a second is wasted when I can spend it with you. And I won’t go. I’ll be there for you. You’ll always have me to rely on.”

Mycroft’s face crumpled. “I’m not easy to handle,” he whispered, trembling against Greg. “I cannot demand that you care for me, not under those circumstances.”

“Mycroft.  It’s your personality, which is, by the way, absolutely beautiful. And _no_ , you aren’t difficult for me handle. I promise. I’ve only seen a perfect, sweet little boy in the last few weeks.”

Mycroft smiled hesitantly at those words.

“And even if you were the most annoying kid ever, which you certainly are _not_ , there is nothing you could do to change my mind. I’m not going to abandon you. Never.”

Greg’s strong hand caught his chin again, forcing him to look up. Mycroft gazed at him, wide-eyed.

“Mycroft, you know me. You know things about me which I don’t even know myself. And you know that I’m not one to offer things blindly. Trust me, I want you to be my Little. I told you countless times. I’m a caregiver, it’s normal for me to care for someone, just like it’s your nature to long for that care.”

Mycroft took a deep shuddering breath. “People will know.” Didn’t Gregory understand that? Both of their careers were in danger here.

“You’ll know, and I will. No one else will get a glance in our private lives, unless you plan to shout it from the rooftops. Be assured, I don’t plan on changing you somewhere public.”

Mycroft exhaled shakily. In theory, he knew that it would remain private. But it was the first time he opened his heart and let someone in. He wasn’t scared of many things, but this was new and downright terrifying.

“No one else,” Mycroft repeated. “It is crucial that it remains private.”

“And it will.” Greg said. “Mycroft, I need an answer. Do you want me to be there for you? To be your caregiver?"

Mycroft wanted to say yes. He wanted to say it so badly.

“Greg, I – you’re right.” Mycroft whispered, hiding his face in Greg’s shoulder. “I want this so much, I can’t sleep at night because I crave it so much.”

“But I don’t want to want it.” He paused. “And I don’t need it. Not really. I can take my pills again and it will be fine.”

Mycroft’s answer was directly contradicted by the fact that he was still clutching his owl tightly, not looking one bit adult.

“Ignoring the question if you need it for a moment, the very fact that you want it answers it. You have talked yourself into believing that you can cope without it, but sweetie, it’s not healthy nor it is safe for you. What happens if you drop at work, maybe in a dangerous situation? You can’t continue to ignore your biological urges.”

Mycroft was pulled onto Greg’s chest once again. 

“I’ll be honest, Mycroft. I don’t know how I can convince you, I’m at my wits’ end here. We both know that you want it, but I need you to make the decision. I’ll follow whatever you want to do.” Greg said.

Mycroft was sure he would drop if he didn’t end this right now.

“I had time to think, Gregory. I want it, but I can’t have it.” Mycroft took a deep breath. “And eventually, I think we should end this. It’s for the best.” Mycroft said, despite his inner voice screaming at him that he made a huge mistake.

He didn’t dare to look at Greg. Greg had already come back to him once, but he wouldn’t do it again. Mycroft was truly free now, free from the risks that their relationship had brought. But it felt like his whole world was falling apart and in this aspect, it was.

Greg sighed, visibly unhappy with his decision. “Fine, but only under one condition.”

Mycroft frowned at him and Greg quickly explained.

“Prove to me that you can cope. Take your pills again, if you want, and stay big. If you can do this for one week, I’ll let you go. Otherwise, you’ll get either me or a different caregiver.”

“Of course.” Mycroft said. That wasn’t going to be a problem.

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning. But remember, I’m always here for you, sweetie. I want you to call me, whenever you are dropping or just want to talk to me.” Greg said.

Mycroft nodded. But there was no way he would do that.

Reaching into his pocket, Greg pulled out a dark blue pacifier. He put it into Mycroft’s hand, closing his fingers around it, and hugged him tightly.  

“Take care of yourself, Mycroft.” he said and after a last glance at Mycroft, he left.

The door clicked shut.

Mycroft felt like he couldn't breathe. What had he done? Mycroft had driven his only friend, his _Papa_ , away. And now, Greg would never return. 

_He had ruined everything._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm sorry again for the long wait..  
> By the way, I changed my user name.

Taking off his coat, Mycroft shut his office door behind him, briefly leaning against it and rubbing his temples. He was more than used to long workdays but today had been especially hard, having to spend the entire day in long meetings that weren’t ones he could zone out during and instead required his full concentration when he could barely focus as it was. Next week was already the first Sunday in Advent and apparently, the nearing Christmas season brought more conflicts than any other season.

Mycroft sat down at his desk, sipping the tea Anthea had prepared him. She had already told him she wished to speak to him concerning a personal matter, but until then, he started looking over the paperwork he had to finish until today’s last meeting in two hours.

He realized it would take unusual long when he caught himself mentally drifting away, having to read one sentence four times.

Greg had left in the morning, just like he had promised, only leaving a short note with the name of the hotel he was staying at behind. Mycroft hadn’t left this bedroom to see him off; he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he caught sight of Greg leaving. The only safe option to avoid a potentially embarrassing reaction was to hide – like a coward, one that had lied to his partner for more than a year.

Now Mycroft hadn’t seen Gregory in four days and two hours. Not that he was counting; it was just that it was hard to forget when it seemed indelibly burnt into his brain and there weren’t many moments Mycroft didn’t spend thinking of him.

He had started to take his suppressants again and it was quite refreshing not be on the edge of dropping into his little headspace anymore. There were still moments when he felt like slipping, but they didn’t happen nearly as often as during the weeks without his pills. Still, he was _so_ glad not to depend on diapers during the day anymore. He wore pull-ups in case of the occasional accident, but he was sure he wouldn’t need them for long.

In hindsight, Mycroft knew he never should have stopped taking them but it had been impossible to resist the temptation to be taken care of. And now that he had realized the risks, he knew it would never happen again. However, the pills simply helped with biological matters and didn’t stop the overwhelming longing for Greg.

It was exactly like he had predicted: now that he knew what it was like to be loved, it seemed impossible to continue living without it. A part of him that grew bigger and bigger each day, wanted to simply run to Greg, begging his forgiveness. Only his logical part prevented him from returning to Greg. What he wanted didn’t matter, it only mattered that Mycroft had done the best thing for his work, his family, and most importantly, for _Greg_. In fact, maybe leaving Greg had been good for Mycroft too.

Nonetheless, it was a fight between his adult and his little side, a fight which couldn’t go on forever. Mycroft knew that perfectly well, and yet he tried to delay it as long as he could; with the only thing that would help a little bit.

Working.

That was basically all Mycroft did in the days that followed the incident with Greg: throwing himself into work and coming home as little as possible. He was almost glad that he needed to deal with business in Italy tomorrow because it allowed him to conveniently spend the last days until Greg’s deadline overseas. Surely Greg would definitely notice then that Mycroft could survive on his own, after all, he had managed it for decades.

It didn’t help that he had to leave his office far more often than usual this week, always rushing from meeting to meeting.

The most basic things in public reminded him of Gregory – it was another politician humming before a meeting started, promptly silenced by a glare, that brought images of Greg doing the same every morning, even though it wasn’t even a similar tune. It was Anthea looking worried whenever he decided to skip his lunch yet again, reminding Mycroft of a time, not even a week ago, when he had Gregory being far more worried for him than he had ever been accustomed to.

And it didn’t help that he spotted more Littles in public now than he had ever before. While Mycroft knew it was a simple phenomenon – the frequency illusion – which simply meant he paid more attention to them and not that he really came across so many more, it still brought up all those feelings he tried to supress.

Only yesterday a Little had excitedly called for their caretaker and Mycroft had to blink to keep a few tears at bay. It reminded him of Greg saying that he planned to shower Mycroft in Christmas presents this year – _we_ _won’t have you be little without toys, Myc_ – and Mycroft realised it wouldn’t happen again. Anthea had even given him a weird look and he knew he had to hide his secret better.

That chapter of his life was over now, and there was no need to bring up the past. Even though he felt like crying every single moment he was awake. Adults didn’t cry – at least not that often, and Mycroft had to be an adult again.

He was interrupted by Anthea knocking and slowly opening the door.

Speaking of the devil.

“Sir?” She leant on the doorway, holding a folder. “Do you have a moment?”

“Come in, Anthea.” Mycroft said, placing his pen down and folding his hands together. “What can I help you with?”

“I got you the reports for the meeting, Sir,” Anthea placed the folder and a cup of tea on his desk before she sat down on a nearby chair with her own tea cup.

She hesitated and Mycroft decided to wait and see what else she wanted. It wasn’t as if he was particularly keen on doing paperwork.  

“You have meetings to attend in Florence tomorrow,” She began carefully and only continued when Mycroft simply stared at her.

Oh, how he hated obvious statements. He knew his own schedule well enough.

Her next words were spoken so fast that Mycroft had to take a second to make sure he had understood them right.

“Concerning the current situation, I highly suggest that you cancel these meetings. If you want, I’ll try to schedule them at a later date.”

Mycroft had figured she was going to say something he wouldn’t agree with, but he didn’t expect _that_. That was absurd.

Cancelling work because of the current situation.

Mycroft’s destroyed relationship with Gregory might classify as a _situation_ , but Anthea didn’t know that. It was highly unlikely that here was a possible danger during the trip he wouldn’t have heard of, so what was she implying?

They both knew it would be a few stressful days because they had no control over the scheduling and the trip was packed with conferences and phone calls, but that was not nearly a good enough reason to simply not go. It was ridiculous for someone in their position to even think about doing that.

For a short moment, Mycroft was reminded him of the time Gregory had _convinced_ him to stay home because he had feared Mycroft might drop at work.

His mouth twitched in something that would be a grin in other people but he quickly refocused on current matters again and picked up his tea cup when he saw Anthea looking at him in concern.

It was quite annoying how much his attention slipped today.

“There is a chance it’ll be too dangerous for you to stay and work during this period of time.” She added during Mycroft’s pause, not breaking under his glare.

Mycroft put his cup down, folded his arms across his chest and looked up at Anthea with raised eyebrows.

“Unless you have an important reason such as information about an imminent terrorist attack, don’t bother me with this nonsense.” Mycroft finally replied. “As you’re aware, any other reason is not good enough to not attend.”

He leaned back in his office chair and absently dismissed Anthea with a gesture, turning his focus completely to the open file in front of him.

He looked up when he didn’t hear the door closing and frowned at her. Instead of leaving, she had stayed put but seemed unsure on what to do next.  

“What else could you possibly want?” Mycroft was visibly irritated. “Did I express myself that unclearly or are you simply determined to annoy me today?”

“No, Sir, you haven’t.” Anthea replied. “I addressed this because of your current problems, that I’m sure you’re aware of.”

Mycroft scoffed.

“Perhaps you’d like to get to the point and tell me,” Mycroft stared at her and raised his eyebrow, “Just what exactly you’re talking about?”

“You’re distracted at work and it’s starting to show. An extended trip with exhausting conferences might not be wise right now.” She continued quickly.

“First of all, that’s none of your concern. And are you sincerely implying that my work is not up to standards?” Mycroft spat.

She held his stare, unmoved.  

“I am, Sir.” 

That was outrageous.  Anthea had been nothing but professional in all those years she had been in his employment, but it was clear that eventually, everyone left him; be it because of Mycroft driving someone away – like Greg – or through termination. Maybe it really was necessary but he really didn’t hope so, after all, finding a suitable assistant was complicated.

“Do you really want me to terminate your employment, Anthea?” Mycroft said, almost hissing with anger.

“If that allows me to speak freely.”

“It doesn’t, and you’d be advised to leave now.”

 _“Mycroft!”_ Anthea burst out.

Mycroft stiffened, his glare furious. “I don’t recall giving you permission to call me that.”

She ignored his look. “It did catch your attention, Sir. I believe we just talked past each other. Do you know what I was talking about?”

Mycroft slowly shook his head and Anthea sighed.

“You ended your relationship with DI Lestrade, and with due respect, Sir, your emotional state hasn’t been the best since then. You’re easily distracted at work and can’t focus on important matters. Therefore, I simply cannot let you do this trip with a clear conscience. Not unless the both of you talk.”

“I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my private life.”  Mycroft was unusually quiet. He really hadn’t thought about Anthea knowing what happened with Gregory.

“It’s my job, Mr. Holmes. I’m responsible for your safety and I do need to be informed when your relationship changes. Your private life matters when it begins to affect your work.”

She paused, but wasn’t one bit intimated by Mycroft’s hard glare.  

“To be bold – according to my observations, there is a high possibility that without the Inspector present, you’ll drop into your headspace during the trip. My predicted consequences, should this indeed happen, are quite unpleasant.”

Abruptly all colour vanished from Mycroft's face.

It was indeed similar to the time with Greg – but instead of _‘you should stay home’_ being said in a loving way, this was the horrible, mortifying version of it.

 _Drop into headspace_.

Anthea was aware he wasn’t a Neutral because they didn’t have a headspace, Littles being the only classification with one. There was no way she could know, and yet, she implied something.

He needed to control the situation and limit the damage already done to his reputation. Fast.

“You pride yourself on being my assistant, and yet you didn’t manage to read my file that says, quite clearly might I add, that I’m classified as a Neutral. Surely you know they don’t have different headspaces.” His voice shook and he silently pleaded Anthea wouldn’t notice it.

She was visibly taken aback and stared at him.

“ _Oh, Sir_ ,” She leant forward as if to touch him but changed her mind at the last second.  Her voice was gentle and soft, like she spoke to a terrified child.

“I know that you’re a Little, Mr. Holmes.”

There it was.

What he had feared all along.

What he had all but suspected, but the confirmation still hurt so much.

No," he whispered, in horror. "No -  _no_  –“

“Sir –“

“You _know_.” Mycroft was blinking rapidly at Anthea, and suddenly, the room was spinning in front of his eyes.

Anthea knew his secret; most likely she had realized it a long time ago.

His own pulse was pounding in his ear, his heart throbbing far too fast and he knew he should calm down, but he _couldn’t._

Who else knew?

Had they been mocking him behind his back? Maybe he was the laughing stock of the Diogenes Club and Mycroft hadn’t known.

While he despised most of the other members with a passion, they still had some power to _influence_ his life a fair bit.

He could imagine them, taunting him. _Mycroft Holmes, the pathetic baby._

“Breathe."

Anthea was completely calm. She walked over to him and gripped his shoulders tightly.

“It’s alright, Sir,” She murmured, allowing him to focus on her voice.

After a while when there weren’t black spots dancing in front his eyes anymore, he recoiled from her grip and Anthea returned to her seat.

He was still stricken by panic and he knew he couldn’t fool Anthea with his calm façade; not after the meltdown he’d just had.

“Since when?” He choked out, simultaneously fearing the answer. “And who else knows?”

“About two years now. I’m the only one here who knows of your real classification.”

She had known for so long.

And she hadn’t said anything.

Not to him and not to anyone else. He trusted her that she spoke the truth.

Still, it had taken her a few years to notice.

“What gave me away?” He didn’t actually want to know, but maybe he could change his behaviour to prevent anyone else from finding out.

“It wasn’t nearly as obvious as you might think now,” She answered. “In fact, I only noticed it because I accidentally found your medicine in your jacket pocket once when hanging it up. I don’t think I’d have noticed otherwise.”

That had been a massive oversight, Mycroft thought. He couldn't allow himself to make such foolish mistakes again. In hindsight, especially the diapers should have been noticeable for Anthea, even if only because of his changed suit measurements for the tailor.

“I have seen what you’re capable of. Allow me to speak as a friend, Mr. Holmes – this doesn’t change anything. I only fear for your safety _and_ your sanity. And I think it's a shame that you two ended this.”

It happened quite rarely, but now, Mycroft was truly speechless and simply stared at her. Anthea was speaking in favour of his relationship with Gregory, without mocking or even pitying him.

“It was necessary.” He said, picking up his tea cup again. It was cold, but he still sipped it to avoid eye contact.

“Why did you break up with him?”

His secret was already in the open now, so he actually answered. “It wasn’t safe, for neither of us. I can’t indulge in such behaviour, not in my field of work.”

He was almost shocked because he didn’t expect Anthea to be outraged.

“No, Mr. Holmes.” She said firmly. “Don’t say that about yourself. It is your classification and for that reason alone it is not nonsense.”

“I shouldn’t need it.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s not shameful, Mycroft.” Her voice was soft. “You wouldn’t dream of discriminating against Omegas or other Littles. Only against yourself.”

“It’s different with me.”

Anthea laughed.

“You’re truly brilliant, Mr. Holmes, but believe me, regarding this aspect you’re not in any way special to want someone to care for you.”

She stood and picked up their cups; her eyes full of warmth as she looked at Mycroft.

“It is not my place to order you, but please – reconsider it. Sooner or later, your body will fail you because you refuse to give in to your biological needs. You’ll regret this. And even though I barely know the Inspector, I can see that he cares about you.”

He actually _whimpered_ , and her eyes widened.

“Do you want me to call him, Sir?”

_Yes. He wanted Greg._

Mycroft took a moment to pull himself together.

“No, please don’t.” He replied. “You’re dismissed, Anthea. Please make sure the flight tomorrow is scheduled correctly. And be so kind to cancel my meeting for today.”

She sighed again.

“If you insist, Sir.” Anthea was visibly unhappy with his decision. “But please, alert me the instant that you want to get out. You’ll have my discretion.”

He nodded, significantly hesitating. “Of course.”

Anthea raised her eyebrow. “Promise me. As a friend.”

“Yes, I promise.”

She walked over to the door.

“Anthea.” She turned around when he called her back.

“Thank you.” He said genuinely.

She smiled softly at him and left, leaving Mycroft alone with his thoughts.

He shoved away the folders from his desk; a few files falling out that he would have to sort out later. But now, he didn’t care.

And finally, his semi-calm façade broke.

He stood and basically ran to his adjacent bathroom, sinking down next to the toilet.

Mycroft buried his face in his arms, hot tears running down his cheeks. He tried to stay as quietly as he could, knowing Anthea was nearby.

Even then, sobs shook his body.

His assistant knew. His assistant, who certainly wasn’t paid enough to deal with _this_.

The amount of people knowing was increased by one. His parents, Sherlock, John, Gregory, Anthea and himself. Far too many. Mycroft needed to put a stop to it, otherwise he’d have serious problems soon enough.

But he just couldn’t focus. Between the horror of Anthea finding out his secret and his general exhaustion, Mycroft was lingering in a chaotic state of mind.

Even though he hadn’t dropped very often in his life, the haze of littleness was something he was certain he would always recognize. It limited his thoughts and prevented him from thinking logically while he felt himself slipping further and further although he hadn’t reached his youngest age yet.

Normally dropping into headspace was a quite peaceful and relaxing experience, but not for Mycroft. He was fighting tooth and nail against regressing, causing him to have one of the most painful headaches he’d ever had.   

He knew he’d lost the fight when he felt his bladder releasing, soaking both his pull-up and his clothes.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

Right now, he didn’t care about keeping up the act of being big. It was too hard.

He was little now. For the first time in decades, he was little. And completely alone.

Most of all, he wanted his Papa right now. He wanted to call him and have Greg pick him up.  

He had said Mycroft could call when he wanted. He wanted to take him up on that promise – maybe Greg still wanted him.  

Mycroft fished his private phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking so hard that he almost dropped it.

After turning it on, he watched as his background image of Greg laughing was wetted by his tears.

He clicked and dialled the second number in his address book. His phone only had Anthea, Sherlock and Gregory saved, and if he had been big, he could have dialled Greg’s number by heart. Being little, he was glad he got the phone to work.

Mycroft sat with bated breath, listening to the ringing tone.

After a minute, it went to voicemail.

_You have reached the voicemail of…_

He hung up.

Mycroft clung to the hope that Gregory was just busy, finishing up everything. After all, it was already 7 PM.

He dialled again, only to break into tears when his call was rejected within the first seconds.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 turned out to be 6k words.. So I split it and to avoid yet another cliffhanger, you get both chapters today! :)

_Ring Ring._

_Ring Ring._

Gregory shot daggers at his phone, reaching over to reject the call. It was the second time his phone rang now and once again, he didn’t bother with looking at the caller ID – it was unlikely it was that important.

Somewhere along the line he wanted to go home too, and he really didn’t fancy getting a reason to stay at work when he was this close to being finished with the files.

It wasn’t his superior from the Yard calling because of a crime scene because Greg had a slightly different ringtone for him, so most likely, it was either Sally or Sherlock and while he had to answer both of them, they still could wait a few minutes. Maybe he could even put it off until tomorrow.

Normally Sally would simply enter his office instead of calling him, but Greg had specially asked her to refrain from bothering him tonight unless it was an emergency.

It was horrible enough that he had to deal with an almost endless amount of paperwork; he really didn’t Donovan around right now. Not after he had dealt with Sherlock storming away from the crime scene after Sally had insulted him badly today.

He had even put a different ringtone for Mycroft because Greg wanted to be always available in case Mycroft called. He hadn’t had the time lately to check his phone very often because of time consuming crime scenes, so this way he would notice when Mycroft called.

Half of the week they had agreed upon was already over and Greg still hadn’t heard anything from Mycroft. He feared that maybe a week would be too short to really see whether Mycroft could cope without him – or another caretaker for that matter.

Of course Greg planned to stay in contact with Mycroft, no matter what happened. It was just that Greg wasn’t sure he could really let Mycroft go if he managed to stay big. There was always a relatively big chance that Mycroft would regress later on, especially now, when he had already been close to headspace a few times.

No matter what Mycroft said, Greg knew part of the reason Mycroft had told him about his real classification in the first place was because he wanted help. Littles needed to be taken care of and it did also apply to Mycroft despite his tries to deny it. 

Mycroft had been able to supress his biological urges with those damned pills, but it was more than likely that he had never been able to live life to his full potential. Only Littles that entered their headspace often enough were able to really succeed in their adult life.

It was possible that Mycroft had suffered his whole life from an attention span shorter than usual, frequent headaches from repressing his little side unconsciously or simply feeling emotionally vulnerable.

He had probably never noticed it wasn’t common and instead side effects of denying headspace. Being Mycroft, it was also not noticeable because he went through life with extreme willpower and discipline, so it was normal for him to supress huge parts of himself.

Nonetheless, young littles like the age Greg strongly suspected Mycroft was were prone to tantrums and emotional outbursts. He had got an insight into what Mycroft would be completely regressed and he was certainly very emotional.

Greg couldn’t even imagine how much damage control Mycroft must had been doing to keep his side of himself completely hidden, particularly because Mycroft could never allow emotions to interfere with his work. It wasn’t as if he could have his way in a meeting by stomping his foot and screaming at other politicians.

Greg shuddered to think what Mycroft would achieve when he got to be little at home and go to work capable of even higher performance. But to achieve that, it was necessary that Mycroft accepted his little side and regressed fully – it would be interesting to see him so different from his adult side.

At first, Mycroft would regress to the lowest point of his estimated headspace age because he had ignored it for so long. It would take a long time, months, maybe even years, until he would be able to stay a bit bigger. Greg wanted to be there for him along the way and he really hoped he'd get to watch at least - even when Mycroft having a different Caretaker was going to break his heart.

Greg returned his focus to his work and in a practiced movement that stemmed from years of being forced to constantly deal with the same matters each day, Greg opened the next file and briefly skimmed the paragraphs, not finding anything out of the ordinary.

Thankfully, it was the last form that required his attention for tonight and Gregory quickly signed his signature on the line.

He stood and grabbed his jacket from where he had tossed it earlier.

Moving to clear his desk, he unlocked his phone to see whether he still needed to answer Donovan or Sherlock tonight.

He stopped short.

Greg’s heart broke into half when he saw the information on the display.

Two missed calls.

From Mycroft.

Apart from that, he had no other messages - no other calls, no texts, not even ones from Mycroft. Gregory didn’t even know if he was okay, but most likely, he was not.

He was sure he had correctly assigned Mycroft his specific ringtone, so why hadn't he noticed that Mycroft had called him? Greg checked his phone settings – he had indeed set a ringtone for Mycroft, but only for the number of the phone he exclusively used for work. It hadn't worked because Myc had called using his private phone.

Mycroft liked to have two phone numbers to keep his private life indeed private and Greg was only to call his work phone in a dire emergency. Now this separation had led to this huge mistake.

Mycroft had called two times, and Greg hadn’t answered. Instead, he had ignored it.

The realisation that he had failed Mycroft due to his own negligence made him sick.

Greg had promised Mycroft could call him at any time, and Mycroft had indeed called, only to be rejected brutally.

Greg sighed, running a hand down his face.

Greg leaned against the wall and with shaking fingers, he dialled Mycroft. He hoped with his entire heart that Mycroft was okay.

The wait until Mycroft picked up seemed to last forever, Greg watching the seconds displayed on the phone as the phone kept ringing.

Finally, Mycroft answered.

Instantly, Greg heard the loud crying coming from him. It sounded like he tried to stifle the sobs with his fist and Greg’s heart ached.

“Mycroft?” Greg asked. “Are you okay?”

As soon as he had spoken, Greg knew that was a stupid question. It was clear he wasn’t.

In answer, Mycroft began to cry louder.

“Oh, honey,” Greg said softly, hoping to soothe him. “It’s okay, Mycroft. You’re safe now. I’ll come get you, okay?”

Mycroft’s absolutely pitiful crying had his stomach in knots and he was quite certain he was currently dealing with a very little version of Mycroft.

“Papa, _please -“_ Mycroft sounded completely terrified, his sobs forming slowly into barely understandable words.  “- … Pa-Papa … go- h-home… now?”

 _Christ_. Mycroft was indeed little.

Greg closed his eyes in awe and took a deep breath. While he felt awful for Mycroft, part of him was thankful Mycroft had regressed. It was certainly better that he was little right now compared to next week when there was a higher chance Greg wasn’t there to witness it and help him.

Mycroft hadn't managed to cope for the whole week and that meant Greg could assign him a caretaker now. He planned to do exactly like he had told him. There was just no way he would ignore Mycroft’s little side now that he knew of its existence.

“Papa’s here, sweetie,” Greg answered. “I’ll get you home as soon as I’m there. Can you tell me where you are?”

“’D-Don’t k-know, Papa.” Mycroft stuttered out, interrupted by his sobs. “I-I’m s-sorry.“

“Everything’s fine, honeybee. We’ll figure it out. Are you alone? What do you see around you?”

Greg heard the unmistakeable sound of a sob before Mycroft answered.

“B-Bathroom. And I’m alone.”

Greg leant his head against the wall. That was good.

Mycroft seemed to be safe for the moment and he wasn’t in direct public.

Still, it did little to calm Greg’s nerves. It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to hold Myc in his arms as soon as possible.

Greg couldn’t even imagine how scared Mycroft had to be right now, being little and not knowing where he was. And to top it all, Greg wasn’t present to calm him down and help him cope. Because Greg had ignored his calls – his desperate cries for help.

He didn’t know how he could ever make up for it – _if_ he could ever make up for it.

He knew this betrayal of trust would never be erased from Mycroft’s memory and it would the hard to gain his trust again.

He hoped with all of his heart that Mycroft would forgive him.

“Do you know if it’s the one in your office, sweetheart?” Greg asked eventually.

For a few seconds, Mycroft was silent. If it wasn’t for the movement and the breathing on the end of the line, Greg might have thought that Mycroft had hung up.

 “N-No. I checked, Papa. I think it’s that club, ‘don’t know the name though.”

Greg chuckled inwardly. If somebody had someone told him a few months ago that he’d try to identify a bathroom together with Mycroft, he’d thought them to be bonkers. And yet, here he was.

“You’re doing great, Mycroft. Is Anthea still at work with you?”

Mycroft’s crying had almost died down, but suddenly, it significantly increased in volume and Greg grew even more worried.

It took a few moments of Greg whispering to his boy before Mycroft was able to talk again.

 “- … she - An-Anthea … k-knows _-_ oh God _-_ oh God… _she knows_ _-_ “

Greg's heart shattered into pieces.

Mycroft had dropped at work, not in the safety of his home like he should, especially for what was essentially his first time dropping.

Had Anthea been there when he dropped? Had she seen her boss little?

Greg wasn’t sure Mycroft would be able to face her at work anytime soon if that had really happened.  He would worry about later, because consoling Mycroft and fetching him was his first priority now.

“I’m so sorry, Myc.” Greg sighed softly. “I’ll come get you now. Stay where you are, okay? Won’t take long, I promise.”

“O-Okay.”

Greg quickly did his usual night time routine he had interrupted for Mycroft – clearing his desk, turning off all lights, locking down his office and checking in on Donovan. The whole time he commented on what he was doing for Mycroft.

Cleaning up took a bit longer with only one hand available, but Mycroft had finally stopped crying a few minutes ago, only sniffling occasionally.  

It was worth it when Greg’s heart burst with joy because Mycroft actually giggled at one of his jokes.

Thank God, Greg thought. It hurt so bad not being able to comfort Mycroft in person.

Greg ran down the stairs and out onto the street where he was successful in hailing the first cab he saw. He gave the address of the Diogenes Club and returned his attention to Mycroft.

“Still there, love?”

Mycroft tried to answer, but was interrupted by a wide yawn, the stress of the last few hours catching up with him.

Greg chuckled. “No wonder you’re tired, after that hard day you’ve had. We’ll get you into bed soon enough, sweetie -”

 “Papa?” Mycroft piped up, interrupting Greg.

“Yes, Mycroft?”

“Are you still Papa?”

Greg was confused. “What do you mean?”

Mycroft huffed. “Are you still - _my_ Papa? B-Because you didn’t answer earlier.”

Greg sighed.

“I know, Myc, and I can’t even begin to tell you just how sorry I am. Still, that’s no excuse. The only thing I can do is to promise you it won’t ever happen again. I’ll do my best to always answer and be there for you.”

For his liking, Greg had already broken far too many promises regarding Mycroft. If Mycroft ever managed to trust him again, it’d be a miracle.

“Do you want me to be your Papa?” Greg asked with bated breath.

That was the crucial question he had asked Mycroft more than once, only to receive answers he certainly hadn’t hoped for.  He hoped for a positive outcome, but he really wasn’t sure if he would get it – both from little and adult Mycroft.

“Yes, please.” This time, Mycroft was quick to answer, sounding completely earnest. “ _Please_ , Papa.“

Greg felt the overwhelming urge to hug Mycroft – his _Little_ – tightly, but instead, he settled for beaming widely. Sure, this wasn't the first time Mycroft had called him Papa. But it was the first time Greg was sure he actually meant it and was willing to take the risks he was so afraid of.

“Of course, Mycroft. I’d be honoured.” Greg said softly.

“Papa?” Mycroft asked again.

“Yes?” Greg said, watching his surroundings through the window to gauge when he finally would be at Mycroft’s – no, their flat.

“Don’t be mad, please.” Mycroft whispered so softly that Greg had to strain his ears to hear him.  

“I won’t be. You can me tell anything.”

Greg had no reason to be mad at Mycroft, regardless of what he would be told. If anything, Mycroft had reason to be mad at Gregory.

“I-I’m w-et,” Mycroft said hesitantly. “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t m-mean to.”

Greg’s heart ached. His poor boy really had had a horrible day today and it seemed like it got even worse.

“That must be awful, honey. As soon as I get to you, I’ll get you a fresh diaper.”

“N-No, ‘wasn’t wearing a diaper.”

Greg cursed under his breath, making sure Mycroft didn’t hear him. He wasn’t angry with Mycroft, not by any means. He was a toddler – maybe even a _baby_ , only time would tell – and certainly couldn’t help it. It was only the longer route that annoyed him.

Mycroft needing new clothes meant Greg had to spend valuable minutes to go home to pick up clothes before he could get to him. His hotel room was closer and he had a diaper bag stashed there in case of an emergency involving little Mycroft, but it certainly didn’t contain a suit or other appropriate clothes for work.

There was just no way Mycroft would be okay with being forced into an uncomfortable and far too-grown up looking suit now.  The suits were adult Mycroft’s armour, but Greg’s little boy deserved soft onesies and overalls. Nonetheless, he would need to wear one or else he’d be stared at by other members of the Diogenes Club.

Not to mention the fact that if Greg were to do such a thing like publicly humiliating him with inappropriate clothes when he was little and trusting Greg, adult Mycroft would absolutely never forgive him – quite rightly so – and would do his best to make Greg’s life hell. 

Luckily doing that was the furthest thing from Greg’s mind right now.

He felt absolutely terrible at the distress Mycroft was currently in. It was no wonder he had gone into headspace after Anthea had found out and he had wet himself at work, to make matters even worse.

“Still fine, Myc. Still going to clean you up. Wait a second, please, love.”

Greg addressed the taxi driver and informed him of the changed route, returning the phone to his ear afterwards.

“I’ll be there soon.” Greg said. “About twenty minutes.”

Greg stopped talking when he heard Mycroft lightly snoring.

Mycroft had actually fallen asleep.

Greg chuckled, taking care not to wake him.

A few minutes later, the cab finally arrived at their home and Greg hopped out after telling the driver to wait.

He ran up to the door, every minute wasted meant a longer wait for Mycroft.

The flat was exactly like he had left it, that much was visible at just a glance.  Greg quickly opened Mycroft’s wardrobe and shoved a suit into his bag which looked like it was still the most comfortable one Mycroft possessed - not that Greg would describe any of his suits as particular comfy under normal circumstances.  Maybe Mycroft would hate him later on for wrinkling it, however Greg had more important things to care about right now.

He rummaged around in the bathroom until he had found diapers along with supplies. On second thought, he re-entered the bedroom and grabbed the stuffed owl which was sitting on his bedside table, as well as a pacifier from where he had stored their purchases in a drawer weeks ago.

Greg was thankful Mycroft hadn't thrown the stuff away, although he didn’t think Mycroft would have the heart to do so with his owl he’d clearly grown to cherish. In fact, he suspected it’d stay as Myc’s comfort item.

Greg left the flat and entered the cab again, finally able to give the address of the Diogenes Club. It was more than time that he got Mycroft home. He was still on the phone with him and Greg heard him snoring occasionally.

When he arrived there, he already spotted Anthea, tapping on her BlackBerry. She beckoned him over without looking up and Greg went to her.  

It was possible that she had known he was on his way, so maybe she had information regarding her boss.

“Inspector,” Anthea greeted him, her head tilting to the side. “Mr. Holmes is in his office. You can go up there, as long as you’ll be discreet enough to be spotted by as few people as possible. That makes it easier to get Mr. Holmes to the exit without anyone bothering him. Keep yourself to the right and take the stairs.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, probably from her pockets, Anthea produced keys and gave them to Greg.

“I’ve locked his office. _Do not_ lose these keys.” She said, the warning clear in her voice.

Greg nodded. He could imagine his fate if he lost them.

“Don’t let him say anything or worse, speak to anyone. I’ve cleared his schedule and his first meeting is at 3 PM tomorrow, afterwards he has conferences in Italy to attend.” She paused, staring at him before continuing.

“A car will be awaiting you. Be quick.”

With that, she was off, leaving Greg to stare after her.

It was no wonder that Mycroft liked her.


	11. Chapter 11

Greg entered the club, following Anthea’s instructions. He didn’t care about how much noise he was making, it wasn’t his membership in danger here. Surely they weren’t dumb enough to go after Mycroft, not with the amount of power he held.

Nearly running up the stairs, Greg was glad when he’d reached Mycroft’s office. A glance at his watch told him it was already 8 PM. It had cost him almost an hour to reach Mycroft.

To be on the safe side if Mycroft suddenly woke up, Greg had stayed on the phone with him but now that he was almost there and could comfort him in person rather than only by talking, he hung up.

Actually getting to Mycroft proved to be easier than Greg originally thought. With the keys provided by Anthea, he unlocked the door and relocked it after him. He doubted anyone had the nerve to enter his office uninvited, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

He entered the pitch-black office and turned on the light. When he didn’t spot Mycroft and instead noticed the door to the left that was most likely the adjacent bathroom, he knocked on it.

When no answer came, he was glad Anthea’s keys fitted this lock too.

What Greg saw when he opened the door, broke his heart. However, it also reminded him of the first time when Myc had been ill and Greg had seen him the in this state for the first time. It seemed as if Mycroft liked to use bathrooms as some kind of safe space.

Mycroft was awake, sitting down next to the toilet and hugging his knees to his chest, his right thumb firmly in his mouth. He looked very little and very vulnerable, even though he was still wearing his suit, which was completely wrinkled and Greg guessed it to be destroyed beyond repair – no doubt even a professional dry cleaner was going to struggle to get urine out of the fine material.

“Myc?” Greg said very softly.

Mycroft lifted his head at that, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying. Greg noticed they were again filling with tears, though he didn’t allow them to fall. Mycroft stayed quiet but suddenly, he lifted the arm that wasn’t currently serving as a stand in for his pacifier in a silent request to be picked up.

Greg immediately moved and lifted Mycroft onto his hip, supporting his bottom with his arm. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Greg’s neck and to hide his face in his chest.

Mycroft sniffled and a few tears wet Greg’s shirt, but thankfully, he didn’t start crying again. Still, Greg held him for several minutes until he had stopped whimpering and Greg was sure that he was calm enough. As much as Greg was content to hold him forever in his arms, it had been an overwhelming day for Mycroft. Being able to rest at home, hopefully sleeping longer than his customary three to five hours, would help immensely in settling him in his little headspace.

Currently it was still fragile, both because it had been his first drop in decades and because he had dropped as a shock reaction after Anthea had found out.  Greg would need to tread carefully so he wouldn’t grow up too early. It was known to be harmful when Littles spend too little time at once in headspace and therefore, it was necessary that Mycroft got to spend most of the time until his first meeting tomorrow regressed.

And yet, Mycroft needed to appear like an adult for the few minutes until they’d left the Diogenes Club. Greg already dreaded forcing Mycroft so soon after he’d finally dropped.  

Though the feeling of his wet pants on his arm along with the smell didn’t bother Greg in the slightest, Mycroft had to very uncomfortable. Greg didn’t want Mycroft to go through the discomfort of developing a rash just because he hadn't cleaned him fast enough.

It was already bad enough that Mycroft had spent an hour in those wet clothes. Sure, he could have send Anthea to pick up clothes for Mycroft – but that meant she’d had to pick up his little supplies, and Greg doubted adult Mycroft would have agreed to that.

It took him a few tries to gently pry Mycroft away from him in order to set him down.

“Let’s get you cleaned, Myc.”

Mycroft whimpered louder at that, tightening his hold around Greg’s neck. Sensing an incoming meltdown, Greg tried his best to soothe Myc.

“I know you don’t want to, but I have to clean you up. I’ll be fast, sweetie.”

Mycroft went quiet, but the way he grabbed onto the front of Greg’s shirt spoke volumes.

It wasn’t until Greg had leaned down with Mycroft still in arms to take out a pacifier along with his secret weapon – Mycroft’s stuffed owl. He immediately grabbed it from Greg’s hands and pressed it against his chest.

He put the pacifier closer to Mycroft’s face as Mycroft looked at it, the uncertainty and at the same time, the longing clear in his eyes.  It seemed like even little Mycroft was shy in accepting things that should have been standard comfort items for any Little.

Mycroft looked away when Greg pressed it to his lips but obediently opened his mouth, allowing the pacifier to slip in easily.

He just held it in his mouth and made no move to suck it, causing Greg to lightly tap the plastic shield.

“Come on, Mycroft. Don’t hold back now.”

Apparently the temptation was too great to resist because Mycroft gave in and began to suck. He closed his eyes, the comforting weight of the rubber treat causing him to hum contently.

Greg put the thin blanket he’d tossed in the bag earlier down on the ground and slowly lowered Mycroft onto it. He was completely occupied with cuddling his owl, rhythmically sucking on his pacifier and almost falling asleep again.

Greg removed the many layers of clothes and the soaked pullup underneath.  Even though it was kind of disgusting, he didn’t throw in the bathroom trash and instead put it into his bag after he had put a separate plastic bag around it. The chance of some cleaner actively looking and seeing it in the trash bag was minimal - Greg personally thought it to be non-existent – but he knew just how paranoid Mycroft was. He had gone through the hassle of hiding his sparse little supplies in a _secret compartment_ from Greg, so this was almost certainly something he’d do himself.

Just because Greg found it a bit excessive, he still didn’t want that Myc’s classification got to be public knowledge. He had no doubt it would destroy his boy more than he could imagine.

On second thought, Greg didn’t even know if his own classification was noted in his personal file at work. If it was, there was a possibility that someone - who was certainly not a friend of Mycroft - was going to look it up and was suspicious because of Mycroft’s status as a Neutral.

While romantic relationships between Caretakers and Neutrals existed, they were almost unheard of, it being much more common that Caretakers had Littles. Any behaviour of Mycroft that even hinted slightly towards a wrong classification had the potential to put him in danger. This considered, it was no wonder that Mycroft was paranoid to such extent.

Murmuring praise, he grabbed a wipe and cleaned him up quickly. Lifting Mycroft’s hips, he slipped the diaper underneath, pulling the front up and fastening the plastic straps. It was evident Mycroft certainly couldn't be expected to focus on his bladder right now and to Greg’s surprise, Mycroft exhaled quietly when the diaper was closed, the tension leaving his body almost completely.

It was possible, even likely, that the diaper provided a feeling of security now as he didn’t have to constantly worry about an accident anymore. Greg doubted Mycroft would ever go as far to admit the comfort they brought him, but he hoped that at the very least, the little version of Mycroft would learn that it wasn’t necessary to show any restraint.

Mycroft’s stomach grumbled and Greg chuckled lightly. With a little luck, Mycroft could be persuaded later into accepting a nice, warm bottle. Greg had bought special formulas for Littles, which was really more of a meal replacement shake. He suspected Mycroft had eaten very little today and with his weight that was far lower than Mycroft always thought it to be, a few extra calories couldn’t hurt.

Mycroft proved right now how fit he was. Dressing him in the new suit again was far harder because he was more awake now and actively refusing to cooperate. He was trying to wrestle himself out of Greg’s grip, but despite his regular workout – that really did more harm than good because of his Little-specific physique that just wasn’t built for excessive training  – Greg was much stronger than him.

“Don’t wanna.” The words were slurred because of his pacifier, but Greg had no problems understanding him.

“You have to wear it, sweetheart. Just for a moment.”

“No!” Mycroft almost yelled, probably trying to sound stern and intimidating. Because of the pacifier, it was one of the most adorable sights Greg had ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but it’s necessary right now.” Greg was firm enough that a few tears slipped down Mycroft’s cheeks. He grimaced when Mycroft used his sleeve to wipe his nose.

With that, Greg quickly dressed Mycroft, glad when he wasn’t interfering although he wasn’t helping either. He helped Mycroft stand, checking that the diaper wasn’t too visible. Satisfied, he re-packed the bag and followed Mycroft out of the bathroom.

When Mycroft made a move to open the door, Greg stopped him.

“Don’t go outside yet, Mycroft. I need you grow up a bit.”

There was just no way he could let Myc outside like this: he was still clutching his owl tightly, the pacifier in his mouth and his face looking he’d cried for days straight. He looked nothing like the British Government at the moment, instead, he had an amazing similarity with a little boy who had dressed himself in his father’s clothes.

It wasn’t that the suit was too big. As expected, it fit perfectly, and still, Mycroft’s entire posture spoke volumes. Even without the owl and the pacifier, he carried himself without the usual grace and power. Greg really hoped they wouldn’t encounter anyone, but it was quite likely that a few other members were still working. 

“’Can’t, Papa.” Mycroft whimpered, fidgeting next to the door. “’Carry, p’ease?”

Greg sighed. “I’m sorry, love. I want to carry you, so much, but I can’t right now. You have to walk to the car, and as soon as we’re there, I’ll cuddle with you.”

Mycroft’s face fell and he looked absolutely heartbroken. With sheer willpower, Greg grabbed the owl and the pacifier and put them into the bag. His heart clenched when Mycroft looked like his world just had been destroyed, and in one way, it had. Considering how young he was currently, he probably didn’t understand why he’d been deprived of his comfort items.

Greg was _this_ close to not giving a damn and simply carrying Mycroft out the door – only the fact that he still had big Mycroft’s opinion to consider stopped him from doing exactly that. It was just so unfair that he couldn’t do this, when Mycroft so desperately wanted it. He wanted something so normal for any Little and Greg had to deny it, especially when he could count the number of times Mycroft had asked him for this on one hand.

Greg wiped tenderly at Mycroft’s tear-stained cheeks and shouldered the bag. He’d made his decision. He would go down to the car with Mycroft right now, without waiting for him to be big again. It just wasn’t possible and he felt already horrible for not being able to treat him as little as he deserved it.

He locked the door and was surprised when Mycroft straightened himself when they were standing in the hallway. Maybe he was subconsciously recognising it and his adult side was trying to take over.

“It’s okay, Mycroft. You can stay little, you’re safe here.” Greg shushed him and led the way.

At the first look, Mycroft seemed absolutely normal. He was walking normally, radiating power and absolute authority. However, for people who knew him, thus Sherlock, Anthea and Greg himself, it was visible at the second glance how much more cautious than usual he was. Whereas he’d normally walk ahead, now he kept himself ever so slightly behind Greg. It was only barely noticeable, and yet, it spoke volumes about how shy he was as a Little.

Greg rubbed Mycroft's side reassuringly when there was no chance that someone might spot them. Just once he had to catch his hand when Mycroft started to lift it, intending to suck his thumb.

“You’re doing very well, little one. I’m proud of you.” Greg told Mycroft quietly, noticing how Mycroft beamed at the praise.

He was more than glad when they’d finally reached the entry door and as Anthea had told him, there was indeed a car waiting and Greg was quick to usher Mycroft into it.

Greg closed the car door along with the screen separating them from the driver, giving him instructions to drive home. He rummaged around in the bag, caught Mycroft's chin with his hand and popped the pacifier back into his mouth, watching as he furiously sucked it. Next came the owl, Mycroft instantly grabbing it and hiding his face in the fur.

Mycroft had done so well and had managed to completely hide the stress he must have felt, facing the possibility of someone addressing him. Greg gently kissed his forehead.

Sure, he had loved Mycroft ever since they started their relationship - but this, having a _Little_ , felt totally different. He felt as if his love for Mycroft had doubled in intensity and before he had met Myc, he’d never imagined he could love and be so proud of someone.

Mycroft spend the rest of the drive cuddled up next to Greg, tightly clutching his owl. He was only barely awake and Greg had little hope that he’d manage to coax him into drinking a bottle before bed.

When they arrived, he thanked the driver and scooped Mycroft up, settling him onto his hip. Mycroft’s leg automatically wound around his waist and he laid his head down on Greg’s shoulders, trusting that he was safe. After all Myc had been through, Greg really didn’t have the heart to torture him even further by making him walk.

Luckily, the light of the street lamp wasn’t bright enough to fully lighten the street, their house entrance only lightened by a dim motion sensor. The sun had set hours ago and it was dark enough outside that Greg was sure not even the driver had been able to see Mycroft being carried.

Greg fumbled around in his pants for his keys, managing to open the door while still balancing Mycroft and his bag, shoving it closed with his foot.

He laid the fast asleep Mycroft onto his own bed – he didn’t plan on leaving him alone tonight – and pulled down his pants, only folding them because he didn’t want to face Mycroft’s wrath tomorrow. He only did it half-heartedly as they’d have to be dry cleaned anyway.

Mycroft didn’t have any proper Little clothing yet, but sweatpants would do for now until they would have time to go shopping, preferably online this time to avoid another tantrum. Mycroft’s diaper was still dry and Greg dressed him, picking one of his own sweaters for him to wear. Technically Mycroft was taller than Greg and yet, he was almost swallowed by the material because he was so thin.

Mycroft sighed and nuzzled closer to the blanket, drooling around his pacifier. Greg was glad that he had quickly accepted the pacifier, because even though Greg suspected he was around two years old currently and thus had the ideal age to be comforted by them, he still hesitated to accept comfort. Most likely it stemmed from a lifetime of forcing himself to cope without anything that was considered for be for Littles only. Greg had already thought about it so often, and still, his heart ached for his boy every time.

Mycroft being asleep gave Greg time to prepare the bottle which was far easier to do than he’d originally thought. The formula claimed to have as much calories as a full adult-worth meal and Greg mixed it with milk, cooling the bottle by holding it under cold water.

A huge smile spread uncontrollably across his face at what he found when he entered the bedroom. Mycroft was curled up in the middle of the bed, clutching his owl tightly and snoring lightly. He had kicked off the covers, his clothing was askew and the white waistband of his diaper peeking out from underneath his pants.

Greg’s heart swelled with happiness. Even though he had known Mycroft’s classification for weeks, in moments like these he still couldn't believe his luck. He finally had a Little.  And to be honest, the fact that _Mycroft_ was his Little made it even better.

Apparently Mycroft hadn't slept very deeply, because he woke and blinked up at Greg when he sat down on the bed, placing the bottle onto the bedside table.

“Papa?” He asked sleepily, rubbing a fist into one eye. “’Wanna sleep.”

“I know. I know, love, but I’m pretty sure you haven’t had anything to eat today. I have a nice, yummy bottle of milk for you.” Greg said softly, sitting down onto the bed and pulling Mycroft against him. “Then you can go back to sleep.”

Mycroft gripped Greg’s shirt between his hands fiercely and eyed the bottle on the bedside table. It was honestly hard to tell whether he was reluctant or intrigued by it. Greg hoped it was the latter, but maybe the pacifier had already been enough to overwhelm Mycroft and he wouldn’t want to try other stuff right now.

Nonetheless, he arranged Mycroft in his arms until his head was cradled in the crook of Greg’s elbow. He took out Mycroft’s pacifier and slipped the nipple of the bottle into his mouth before Mycroft could complain at the loss. He tipped the bottle up and squeezed it lightly, Mycroft swallowing automatically.

However, Mycroft whimpered softly and just when Greg thought it had been too much, Mycroft’s eyes shut in pleasure and he kept drinking.

Greg listened to the snuffly sounds Mycroft made while drinking and beamed. When the bottle was empty, he put it away on the bedside table and patted Mycroft’s back, causing him to burp.

Greg popped the pacifier in Mycroft’s mouth again. He was barely conscious and nuzzled his face in Greg’s chest.

He switched the light off and kissed Mycroft’s forehead when he heard something coming from the bundle in his arms.

“’’Ove you, ’apa.” Mycroft mumbled around his pacifier.

“Love you too, Mycroft.” Greg answered.

He felt like bursting with joy. Even though he’d had his doubts, this day had shown him it had indeed been a good idea that he had persuaded Mycroft into accepting his classification. He couldn’t wait to spend most of the morning with little Mycroft.  


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet again there was a much too long wait. My private life was quite hectic, but that's nothing that's an excuse worth bothering with :) I'll answer any comments later this week and this chapter is not yet proof-read completely, but I wanted to post anyway.

The temperature had dropped noticeably in the past few days, particularly during the last night and the streets were frozen for the first time this year. The sky was grey and cloudy because of the forecasted rain that had fallen steadily without let up since they had woken up, loudly pattering against the windows, accompanied by the howling wind. Mycroft knew that soon, most likely when they were about to leave for his conferences, dark clouds from the anticipated thunderstorms would block the sunlight entirely and darken the sky, along with louds claps of thunder and lighting.

Mycroft didn’t mind it because he liked rain, especially when he was safe and warm indoors. It hadn't begun to snow yet and Mycroft really hoped for a white Christmas, because Papa had promised earlier this morning they’d built a huge snowman if there was enough snow. He had even drawn carrots on their grocery list because his snowman needed a carrot nose and writing words had been far too hard. He had been afraid Papa might forget to buy them otherwise.

Otherwise a snow fight would work even with considerably less snow, Mycroft supposed. They’d make it work somehow, Mycroft certainly wasn’t going to ignore his chance to play in the snow like he’d wanted to for nearly forever just because it was less snow than he had hoped for. 

Mycroft took a moment to stare out of the window on the street below, touching the cold window pane and watching his breath condense around his fingers. Despite the fact that it was still early, quite dark and raining heavily outside, there were already far more people than he had expected on the street and Mycroft watched how they were shivering in the cold even though they had pulled woollen hats over their reddened ears and tightened thick scarves around their necks, standing under mostly black umbrellas with just a few colourful ones forming the exception.   

Mycroft knew he’d look just as well wrapped up when they would leave for his conferences later that day because Papa had already dug up even more thick clothing out of their wardrobes. At least they’d warm, Mycroft thought.

Giggling softly, he chose the middle of the foggy window to draw a heart with his finger. He made it big enough so he could write _Papa_ in the middle of it, carefully drawing each letter. Mycroft took a step backwards and critically gauged his artwork.

He was quite satisfied because it looked really nice and he just hoped Papa would like it. Mycroft sometimes wasn’t good at expressing his love in words but he hoped with all of his heart that Papa understood him despite that.

He had finished his heart and was about to start on a snowman along with a Christmas tree, littered with presents, when he heard Papa loudly counting and he jolted, snapping out of his daze. He had been so absorbed in drawing the heart for Papa that he had entirely forgotten they were playing hide and seek. Papa had suggested it after Mycroft had refused breakfast earlier, instead wanting to play and now they were on their third game.

Somehow, Papa always found him. Hiding behind the curtain had turned out to be a bad hiding place, but even his second attempt behind the couch hadn't been much better. Maybe Papa had magical powers and could simply sense him? Mycroft made a mental note to ask him later. 

Mycroft skidded into the living room, only barely catching himself before he hit the floor when he slipped in socked feet, and quickly scanned the room for a good hiding place. Papa was still counting out loud in the hallway and the other rooms hadn’t proven to have good hiding spots earlier, so the living room would have to do.

He finally chose the kitchen cupboard underneath the sink, barely managing to wriggle himself in there. He opened the door again when he noticed his owl had been left outside and Mycroft quickly snatched the stuffed animal, cuddling it to his chest.

It had taken him ages to name his best friend, but after thinking hard about classic names he knew, because his owl deserved a proper name, he had eventually decided on Atticus. As a child, he had quite liked the novel _How to kill a mockingbird_ it was from and after Papa had suggested it, he had deemed it fit.

He had chosen his hiding place not a moment too soon. Mycroft heard his Papa reaching one hundred while he was counting out loud and giggled softly because he was sure Papa was never going to find him here.  

_“Ready or not, here I come!” Greg called out._

Mycroft heard his Papa entering the living room and tried his best to stifle his giggle with his fist, putting his other hand other Atticus’s mouth to make sure he knew to stay silent. It was a tight fit inside the cupboard and smelled of cleaning supplies that had been in here until a few hours ago. Papa had put them away because he didn’t want Mycroft to drink them, as he had said when Mycroft had asked.

Right now it was useful because Mycroft had more space while he waited for Greg to find him. Still, his Papa was silly sometimes. Didn’t he know that Mycroft knew they were icky and bad for him even though they were kind of colourful?

 “Oh, where could Mycroft be?” Greg called out and Mycroft heard the floorboards creaking beneath him. He seemed to be somewhere near the couch and opened a cupboard.

“Is he even here or did he vanish?”

Just barely, Mycroft kept himself from calling out, shoving the pacifier that Papa had clipped to his shirt earlier in his mouth to make sure he didn’t accidentally make a noise.  He was mostly sure that Papa only pretended not to find him eventually because he had done the same thing during the last two games.

Mycroft had stormed out of his hiding place only to find out that Papa hadn't really thought that Mycroft had disappeared forever.

That had been really _mean_. Mycroft had made sure to tell Papa that, but he had only tickled Mycroft all over in response. Okay, it had been kind of fun, but still – his Papa was a meanie sometimes.

Greg sighed loudly. “I guess he’s very good at hiding. I hope I can find him at all!”

Mycroft opened the door a small bit and peered out from behind it. He saw Papa lifting the sofa cushion dramatically and couldn't keep himself from giggling. Why was Papa so silly? Even Mycroft knew he couldn’t hide underneath a pillow without being spotted instantly.

He saw Greg twirling around and Mycroft held his breath, letting the cupboard door fall shut, loud enough to attract his attention.

For a few moments, it was silent and Mycroft almost thought Papa hadn't actually heard him, only to squeak when the cupboard door was flung open.

“There you are!” Greg grinned and grabbed him when Mycroft tried to crawl out between his legs, giggling loudly.

Before Mycroft could do anything else, Papa had him flat on the floor, pulling up his top and pressing his mouth against his stomach, blowing a raspberry. He danced his fingertips up and down Mycroft’s side, lightly tickling him.

“Noo!” Mycroft shrieked with uncontrollable laughter, trying to squirm out of Greg’s grip on his waist and gasping for breath in between giggles. “Papa! No!”

Papa simply laughed and peppered his face with dramatic, wet kisses. Thankfully, he stopped tickling him and instead pulled Mycroft into his arms, putting the pacifier into Mycroft’s mouth when he had calmed down.

“I wonder whether the rest of you is ticklish, too,” Greg said and grinned when Mycroft shook his head widely. “I guess we’ll find out some other time. Right now you need breakfast.”

“’Not hungry,” Mycroft protested and held on tightly while he was secured into his Papa’s arms.

“You still have to eat something, love.” Greg tried to sit him down on the kitchen chair, but Mycroft tightened his grip on Papa’s shirt, the thought of Papa leaving filling him with dread. Why didn’t Papa understand that Mycroft didn’t want to be alone?

“So, what do you want to eat? I can make you a full breakfast or even plain oatmeal if you want.” Greg said.

Mycroft grimaced. “Don’t wanna.”

He squirmed in Greg’s grip and Papa let him down to the ground, securing him until he was standing safely. Mycroft slowly toddled over to the kitchen counter, ignoring the paper airplane Papa had built for him this morning in lieu of actual toys and instead grabbing paper along with pencils. They didn’t have any crayons, but it was fine.

He walked over to the living room, Papa insisting on holding hands so he wouldn’t fall for which Mycroft was kind of glad because he was quite wobbly on his feet. Mycroft sat down on the thick rug in front of the couch and spread his paper out on the couch table, Atticus on his lap.

“How about pancakes? Or a nice, yummy bottle?” Papa asked, kneeling down to feel Mycroft’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever, baby, so what’s up with you?”

Mycroft blinked at him, noisily sucking on his pacifier. “Papa?” He said, holding one sheet of paper towards him. “Draw?”

“You want me to draw you a picture, sweetie?” Greg sat down next to him and smiled at Mycroft. “Of course I can do that.”

“Already did a picture for you, Papa,” Mycroft said and pointed towards the window he had drawn on earlier. The heart was still visible, along with the word in it and Mycroft watched Greg to see how he reacted, his eyes full of hope that Papa wouldn’t criticise his art.

He waited for Papa to get upset for drawing on the window when Mycroft wasn’t sure he had been allowed to or laugh at him, but Papa did none of these things. Instead, he started smiling widely and moved to hug Mycroft tightly.

“Thank you, baby, it’s wonderful,” Papa said, ruffling Mycroft’s hair. “I really like it, and you are so talented, darlin’.”

The praise made Mycroft’s heart burn with happiness, in the best way possible. Papa _liked_ it!

“Th’nk you,” Mycroft said, smiling and taking a pencil from the table.

Still beaming and leaning against Papa’s shoulder, Mycroft thought really hard about what he could draw. Papa had already begun drawing what looked like a stick-figure family, so he couldn’t choose that or else he’d be copying.

 Maybe, if his picture turned out be really good like the one on the window, Papa would allow him to hang it on the fridge. Mycroft had never had any of his pictures hung on the family fridge, but it wasn’t as if he had drawn any pictures that he could remember. His focus had always been on education and eventually rising in power, so being allowed to draw _for fun_ was exactly that – more fun than he’d ever had. And to add to that, he wasn’t even alone – his Papa _wanted_ to draw with him.

 “’Gonna paint you a picture,” Mycoft announced. He had decided to draw the winter scene he had planned on earlier and began sketching the outline of the snowman.

About ten minutes later, Mycroft was finished with his picture. The snowman was smiling, equipped with the typical carrot nose, scarf and sticks in place of the arms. Next to him was a huge Christmas tree full of lights and presents underneath it. It lacked colour because Mycroft had only the grey pencil but he still liked it.

He really hoped they’d have a similar Christmas this year. While he didn’t need lots of presents, the lights and decorations and the festive mood were always so pretty.

“’Done, Papa,” Mycroft called, raising his drawing and proudly presenting it to Greg.

“Oh honey, that’s also so beautiful. Thank you very much, I’m proud of you.”

Mycroft leaned down on the table to look at Papa’s drawing.

“That’s you, sweetie, and that’s me,” Greg said, pointing at both stick-figures. He had drawn a similar winter scenery, with snow and naked trees with lights, both of the stick-figures in winter clothes, smiling and holding hands.

“That’s pretty, too,” Mycroft told him.

“Thanks, darling.” Greg said, standing up and taking their two pictures. “Come on, let’s hang them on the fridge.”

“Really, Papa? Really?” Mycroft asked, the joy and glee evident in his voice. “Please, can we do that?”

“Of course we can, Myc,” Papa said, walking over to the fridge, moving an important note along with the magnet to make room for their pictures. “Do you want to choose the magnets?”

“Yeah.” Mycroft slightly chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought, and pondered his options. The normal black ones were boring and didn’t deserve to hold such important pictures – their _first ones_ – in place. Mycroft instead chose one shaped like the moon and one that looked like a dog. Carefully positioning the pictures on the fridge, he put the moon on his picture and the dog on Papa’s.

“Good choice, baby boy,” Papa said. “So, what do you want to do now? Are you hungry?”

Mycroft shook his head and Papa frowned. He was hungry, but he wanted to play! Eating wasted precious time, especially when Mycroft didn’t know how soon he’d be able to be little and play again.

“Okay, baby. Say something when you are hungry, please. Is there something you want to play?”

Mycroft pondered about that. “D’nt know, airplane?”

“Hmm, let me think. We can do that, watch cartoons or movies or we could also do something way more exciting, baby, you want that?” Greg asked, grinning playfully.

 “Play?” Mycroft repeated, growing agitated. He just wanted to play with something, and Papa was making it very hard. He stifled a yawn with his hand before Papa could see it, otherwise he’d have to nap and naps were only for babies.

“Yeah, sweetie, we’ll play. Just the question here, do you want to play with that plane or do you maybe want to build a blanket fort? Then we can play inside there, nice and cosy.”

“’Fort?” Mycroft repeated again.

“A really big one, exactly like you want, baby boy. With blankets and pillows and your owl.” Greg explained and ruffled Mycroft’s hair. “How does that sound?”

Mycroft’s lip quivered dangerously. He was close to bursting into tears because he was sleepy and hungry and Papa didn’t do what he wanted. He didn’t care what exactly they did, as long as Papa didn’t leave.

“C’mon, Mycroft, don’t cry,” Greg soothed, tenderly wiping away the few tears that had escaped and putting Mycroft’s pacifier into his mouth. “We can play with your plane, I just thought we could do it inside the fort.”

“It’s ‘kay, ‘apa. ‘Wanna do a fort.” His speech was lisped trough his pacifier because he furiously chewed on it, but Papa didn’t scold him, most likely sensing that he needed the comfort.

“Then let’s get you up,” Papa said and hoisted Mycroft up, holding him exactly like Mycroft liked: secure and as tight as possible, with no risk of falling. Even when he had been an actual child, he couldn’t remember ever being carried this way.  It made Papa’s hugs much more special and with his pacifier and Atticus, Mycroft was perfectly content to stay in his arms forever, but unluckily for him, Papa had other plans.

Far too soon and despite his vocal protests, Mycroft was set down again and Papa went to both of their bedrooms, grabbing all blankets and pillows along with two kitchen chairs.

 Mycroft was left standing there, rubbing Atticus’s ear between his fingers and watching as Greg positioned the chairs around the sofa, laid the pillows and blankets down on the floor in front of it to serve as a makeshift mattress and used the thick blanket from the couch to wrap it over the top of the chairs. He left the opening free of blankets and beckoned Mycroft over.

“What do you think? Do you like it, honey?” Papa asked, adjusting the position of one of the blankets and watching Mycroft carefully.

Mycroft moved closer and touched the blanket tentatively. It was so soft and the whole fort looked just comfortable and safe. He hadn't even known what Papa meant when he had suggested building a fort, but Mycroft trusted him not to suggest something Mycroft obviously wouldn’t like.

He whined softly and the sound was almost muffled, but Papa was still by his side in an instant and Mycroft wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“T’ank you, Papa,” He said, his voice full of emotions. He felt so young and so _loved_ because Papa had built a fort, a safe space just for the two of them. “Love you.”

Greg closed his arms around Mycroft, kissing him on his hair.

“For you always, baby. I’m glad it made you happy.”

Mycroft yawned widely and his pacifier would have fallen to the floor, were it not for the pacifier clip.

Papa chuckled. “You need to nap, get in the fort and I’ll read you a story.”

Mycroft frowned, he didn’t need to nap but a story sounded still nice. “Want pictures.”

“Oh, bug, I don’t think we have any picture books,” Papa said, sounding earnestly sad. “We’ll buy a few the next we go shopping, okay?”

Mycroft frowned again because Papa lied, they had pictures books.

He ran to the kitchen, nearly falling again because of his poor balance and pushed a kitchen chair over to the bookshelf, moving to climb on it, only to have Greg stop him.

“Hey, Mycroft, what’re you doing? You could get yourself really hurt, buddy,” Papa scolded him and wrapped his arm around him to prevent him from climbing.

“Book!” Mycroft cried out, snatching Greg’s arm away and standing up on the chair.

“No, no, Mycroft, get down right now,” Papa sounded really mad, but Mycroft didn’t care. He wanted pictures he could see and touch and not Papa’s phone.

Greg grabbed him tightly and sat him down on the floor and even Mycroft’s trashing couldn't make his grip loosen. Only when Mycroft accidently hit him in the face, Greg spoke up.  

“That’s enough.” His voice was loud and sharp enough for Mycroft to stop instantly, instead staring at him wide-eyed.

“I know you’re tired, but we still don’t yell or hit others,” Papa said, slipping his hand under Mycroft’s chin, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“’eah, I’m ‘orry,” Mycroft sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe his nose.

“You’re forgiven, Mycroft. Now, show me which books you mean, love,” Papa pushed the chair away and hoisted Mycroft up on his hip.

On his hip Mycroft was at the perfect height to remove a thick encyclopaedia and grab two smaller books behind it. Balancing them, he pushed the encyclopaedia back in place and wriggled to get down.

“’Fox and Pirate,” Mycroft said, proudly presenting them to his Papa. “’Read pirate, please.”

 _Fantastic Mr. Fox_ was a book back from his childhood that he hadn't thrown out, while the book about a pirate’s Christmas had been a gift from Sherlock a few years ago. Most likely it had been a joke gift, but it was a present and thus not nice to throw it out, even Mycroft knew that right now. It had been a good decision because now, he had a picture book!

“I really didn’t know you had them stashed in there, baby. Let’s get you cosy in the fort.”

He helped Mycroft to clamber into the pillow fort through an opening not covered by one of the blankets and quickly left.

Papa returned with the book in his hands along with a bottle. Mycroft make grabby hands for it and Greg chuckled, quickly giving it to him and positioning him in his lap where he could both drink and look at the pictures.

“T’was on the eve of Christmastide...”

Being in the pillow fort, drinking a delicious bottle full of honey and milk and listening to Papa’s deep, calming voice turned out to be very relaxing and despite his best efforts to stay awake to listen to the end of the story, Mycroft’s eyes slowly started to flutter shut. He sucked the bottle occasionally and whined when Papa removed it, swapping it for his pacifier.

“Go to sleep, baby.” Papa said, the story finished long ago.

 “No nap, ‘m a big boy.” Mycroft mumbled, forcing his eyes open with difficulty and blinking up at Greg.

“Sure you are, Myc. But big boys can nap too, or just rest their eyes if they aren’t tired.” Greg said, stroking his hair the way Mycroft liked.

Resting his eyes sounded nice, maybe he could even keep his eyes closed for just a few minutes until he wouldn’t be that tired anymore, and then he could pretend he had been awake the whole time in case Papa checked. He let his eyes slip shut again and nuzzled his face into the pillow, wiggling his toes, asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed I end a lot of chapters with either Mycroft or Greg falling asleep, I'm sorry if that bothers you. I try to fix it later on. :)  
> And I'm really bad at naming things - so feel free to leave suggestions for the name of Mycroft's owl, I'm not quite satisfied with it :)


End file.
